CP BK II CHPT XI Na Trioblidi and on to SO
by wanderingchat
Summary: The Sons continue exacting vengence on Zobelle while a recovering Cat watches everything unfold on television.  Gemma's situation causes her to leave the hospital in order to 'take care of her boys', a necessary action when one of the Sons is killed.


The characters and events involving the Sons of Anarchy are the creation of Kurt Sutter.

No copyright infringement is intended.

Any use of lyrics and the mention of songs and performers in this text is also not intended to infringe upon any copyrights held by any of the artists.

All original characters that are not part of the SOA universe are products of my own imagination. Any similarities to real persons are purely coincidence.

Much thanks and love go to:

My DH (who is thankfully very much alive!), for taking the time to offer insights. Also for having the love in his heart to allow me _all _my little obsessions and not feeling threatened by them. We've had 15 great years together; here's to many more!

My best friend (who does live in FL) for kicking my ass when needed and for love throughout these many years. My unofficial 'Godchild', her daughter, for her love as well.

The Indy Tarts and Tartans fan group, for giving encouragement, even though there was little GB involvement. Tignation, Samcro forums, SOA and Kim Coates Yahoo Groups, Facebook and Sons of who also took an interest and added their encouragement. You know who you are.

Kim Sisk (Sisko44 on , check out her SOA/Tig Story called 'Sapphires and Whiskey'. It rocks!) for the wonderful cover art. I love it!

Michael Marisi Ornstein for his valuable willingness to help me understand how Chuckie handles his digital challenges. He's a true gentleman, and a talented individual.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

**Charming Pawse**

**Book II **

**Chapter XI**

**More Na Trioblidi **

**and **

**on to **

**SO**

James Windover had signed off the live report of the seige on Charming's Main Street and was plotting out the interviews he wanted to do for the evening newscast. 'I'd like to get some of the store owners and patrons, maybe even one of the Sons that stayed behind to watch the remaining Mayans. Might be a good idea to stop in and talk to Ms. Marshall's employees about her condition as a follow – up to her wreck.'

His concentration was broken by a crackle from the two-way radio on his belt. "Unit three, this is base," rasped Pesta's voice.

"Unit three, go ahead," Windover replied, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. 'What's he want _now?_'

"We're hearing scanner chatter that part of the highway between Charming and Stockton is being shut down to traffic. I don't think it's anything, but Powell believes it might be something to do with Zobelle, the Mayans, and the Sons. He's sending the helicopter and camera operator up to check it out. He wants you to follow up with them, use the van's feed to monitor it. We'll break in if you think it's warranted. Powell says it's your story and you're the lead team reporter."

'The man sounds downright funereal!' Windover keyed the toggle, "Roger that."

As soon as Pesta replied with "Base clear," the radio crackled again. "Unit three, this is the chopper, copy."

"Unit three, go ahead."

"This is George in the bird. Can you switch over to channel three?"

"Roger that. Switching to channel three." James switched from the main newsroom channel to the channel reserved for conversations between teams handling a major story. As the designated lead reporter, it was his job to direct the other reporters covering other branches of the story and tie all the ends together in a cohesive pattern.

"OK, George, I'm here. What do you see up above?" Jim turned on the news van's monitors and plugged in the feed from the helicopter's camera.

"We're following the Mayans and Zobelle through town; CPD and SJSD are escorting them. No sign of the Sons," George reported.

'I'd like to think that means they're letting the rival gang and Zobelle get away, but I don't think that's gonna happen,' he mused. "Pesta said there's scanner noise that the highway is being shut down. Do you see anything?"

"Lemme check," George replied.

On screen, the helicopter camera panned from the city streets to the highway. "Well! Lookee here." George zoomed in on several highway department dump trucks sitting across the exit and on ramps, their flashing lights alerting motorists to their presence. The trucks were not only blocking ramp access, but had slowed traffic to a crawl in both directions.

"We're flying over the highway now, the police escorts have turned off and are heading back to Charming." George announced.

"Do you see anything else?"

"Just the Mayans and Zobelle traveling down the highway, and some mighty pissed off motorists. You should hear all the horn's blaring!" George laughed.

"Traffic completely stopped, or just slow?"

"Slower than molasses in a hard freeze in January!" George had worked for years in Maine, and was used to cold weather and heavy snows. His speech was often peppered with such dry commentary.

James' eyebrows moved up his forehead. He'd never known of highway trucks deliberately slowing traffic. The news that Zobelle and his motorcycle escorts were the only vehicles moving at highway speed intrigued him.

While James and George were monitoring the highway situation, his camera operator was busily editing tape from the earlier live feed, as well as the interviews Windover had conducted. He kept the wireless microphone ready in case they needed to go back on the air.

James had a tape running in the video deck, recording all the images George was sending. He counted on his camera operator to edit those scenes as needed so he could concentrate on directing the story. The two – way radio set to the newsroom channel crackled again. "Unit three, Powell here."

"Copy, unit three."

"I'm sending Bateman back out to that warehouse in San Joaquin county where that triple homicide occurred yesterday. Got a report that the Sheriff's Department has uncovered security tapes that show the shooter. We got a tip from a caller that a member of the League was one of the trio killed."

"Roger that. Have the reporter call in on channel three. I think we're gonna find a_ lot _of connections, boss."

"Roger that. Good work. Powell out."

Windover glanced at his camera operator, who winked and gave him a thumbs up. "Never underestimate a gut instinct. Serves many reporters well. Better than their noses, in my opinion."

"Uh – oh! We've got trouble in River City!" George cried over the radio. Windover glanced up at the monitor to see that George had pointed the chopper's camera to the back of the bird.

"George, do you see what I'm seeing?"

"If you're seeing a horde of Harleys and a 24 foot truck chasing after Zobelle and the Mayans, we're seeing the same thing!"

James lost no time in calling the newsroom. "Base, unit three here. Tell the anchor we've got breaking!"

"Roger!"

Windover crammed the earplug in his ear and snagged the wireless microphone his camera operator tossed him. The camera operator had a similar earpiece in his own ear. James nervously brushed a hand through his hair as he plotted out his intro, watching the live feed coming off one of the monitors.

As he waited, he called an order out to George. "Keep as close but wide as you can! Don't miss anything, but don't get shot!"

"Roger that!"

The camera operator held up five fingers, then four, then three. James took a deep breath as his camera operator pointed at him and the red light on top of the camera blinked on.

Cat felt refreshed and more confident about herself from the bath. It felt good to her to remove the stench of the wreck from her hair and body. 'Alex would've enjoyed watchin' another woman soapin' me down and rinsin' me off. Men seem to dream about that kind of shit.'

She had just returned from another walk up and down the hallway with Sleeved Biker. Alex had called to talk for a bit and assure her all the guys would be wearing Kevlar. The call had been a surprise, but it helped put her mind at ease.

'Wonder if he's nervous about the upcomin' showdown with Zobelle? He didn't sound like it. Think I'm nervous enough for both of us.' She shrugged and sat down on the chair to the left of the bed, leaving the other for Sleeved Biker.

The Portland charter looked up warily as the door opened, then relaxed as Dr. Gallagher entered the room, followed by a nurse holding a tray.

"Hey, what's up, Doc?" Cat grinned.

'If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me, I'd be able to pay off my student loans!' He smiled and replied formally. "And how are you feeling, Ms. Marshall?"

Cat glared good naturedly at him. "Why the formality, Doc? Just because I'm on your turf doesn't mean you have to go all stiff necked on me!"

"Just keeping things professional. Margaret got a dressing down for her lack of professionalism; just making sure I'm toeing the line."

"Oh, piddle!" Cat laughed. "You don't hafta toe any line where I'm concerned. Glad to hear Dr. Barry spoke with her."

"_Spoke_ with her?" Gallagher hooted. "Cat, I'd be in hot water for gossiping about this, but speaking is the nicest thing one can call it!"

"Called her on the carpet, eh?" Cat grinned.

"The carpet, the woodwork, up and down and all around," the nurse interjected. She looked startled at her own audacity, but Dr. Gallagher and Cat both grinned conspirationally at her.

"None of us can be accused of being members of Miss Margy's fan club!" Cat's smile faded as her thoughts turned to the reason the physician might be visiting. "So, Doc, what did the tests say?"

"Why, Cat! I'm surprised at you! You know tests can't talk!"

Her eyebrow glided to her fringe as she glared at the doctor. 'Now I know how Alex felt earlier!'

In all seriousness, your lung is completely re-inflated. You don't have to have the tube in your side anymore. I've come to remove it. Unless you've grown attached to it, that is."

"Hell, no!" Cat replied. "I think it's more attached to me, thank you very much. I'll be happy to say goodbye to it!"

Sleeved Biker fled from the room at the mention of another procedure. 'I can handle blood in a fight, but somethin' like this? No way! The mere thought of seein' that tube removed makes me wanna hurl!' He paced the hall outside her room, trying not to think of the process. It was too much for him and he fled to the nearest bathroom.

Unaware of Sleeved Biker's discomfort, Cat lay down on the bed after the nurse spread an absorbent sheet on it and raised her arms over her head. "Any news on my eye?"

Dr. Gallagher shook his head as he pushed his hands into rubber gloves. He'd washed his hands in the adjoining bathroom while Cat was preparing ready for the procedure. "Those tests were sent to Dr. Smythe, the eye surgeon. He hasn't had a chance to review the tests."

"Damn! Be nice to be able to get rid of this eye bandage! My glasses aren't quite fittin' right!"

"I noticed you found them. Does the bridge hurt your nose?"

"No more than usual," she replied. "I've had my nose broken before."

Gallagher nodded and poked her side with a hypodermic needle, injecting a local where the tube protruded.

"Yeowtch! Ya could warn a body!" Cat yelped, more from surprise than pain. "That stung!"

"You won't feel anything there in a few seconds," he replied. "The local is so you won't feel the stitches to close up the incision."

"Will it leave a big scar?"

"No. I'll keep the stitches small. Tig will have to look with a magnifying glass for the scar once it heals."

Cat grinned mischieveously. "I'm sure he'll enjoy that idea!" She lay quietly while Gallagher removed the tube and closed the incision. Except for a slight tugging as he closed it, she didn't feel anything. Once he finished the stitches, he stepped back to allow the nurse to clean and bandage the wound.

"Did you get my side all dirty? Y'all got perfect timin'! Just had a bath!"

Gallagher grinned at her. "All nice and clean. The nurse is going to use some alcohol wipes on the area before it gets bandaged. I was going to do this before your bath; had an emergency to tend to."

"It happens," Cat remarked. "Dr. Gallagher, Tig mentioned somethin' I wanted to pass along. He said that I was sheddin' tears out of both eyes last night. Is that a good thing?"

"I don't know, Cat. I'll pass that along to Dr. Smythe. Eyes aren't my speciality, but it sounds like a good thing. Tig didn't give you reason to cry, did he?"

"No," she answered a little too quickly. "I had a bad dream and woke up cryin'."

Gallagher looked closely at her. 'Hmm. Her history shows that she has suffered from PTSD and depression. Recovery from a major accident isn't easy. There's a lot going on with the club right now, likely she's aware of it, too.' He wrote some notes in her chart. "It could've just been a reaction to the accident. I know you've had bouts with PTSD, it's in your medical history. I just prescribed your anti axiety pills for that."

"Thanks, Doc."

"You just make sure you don't rush yourself. You're here to get better, so don't take on too many dragons at one time. Not that I'm calling Margaret a dragon -"

"But if the shoe fits," they grinned at each other. Dr. Gallagher raised a hand in farewell as he and the nurse left the room.

Cat turned up the volume on the television as Sleeved Biker returned. Another report was coming across about events in Charming. Cat felt her stomach turn cold as she watched the latest report.

Gemma and Tara had gone out to purchase more provisions. They had stopped at local farmer's type market to pick up fresh fruits and vegatables.

While Tara was checking out, Gemma walked out to the Olds to load her bags. As she was examing watermelons and other produce, the sight of a familiar young blond woman caught her eye.

Polly Zobelle exited the florists' carrying a bouquet of bright flowers. She was dressed in jean shorts, boots, and a tank top. She loaded the Scion, emblazoned with the _Impeccable Smokes _logo and climbed into the vehicle.

'I told Daddy I'd return in an hour, but that was a lie. I plan to take as much time as possible with Eddie. I may never get to see him again, and have to make him understand why. Daddy will just have to wait, or go without me. I'd rather he left without me so I can stay with Eddie, maybe have a future with him. Is that so much to ask?'

Polly was unaware that Gemma Morrow was watching her. Polly had escaped retribution once by outrunning Gemma the day of the firebombing. Gemma wasn't going to let the girl get away a second time.

Gemma hurried back to the Olds, where Tara had just loaded Abel's baby seat in the back and Half - Sack was closing the trunk lid. Gemma took the keys from Prospect and moved to the driver's seat, intending to follow Polly Zobelle wherever she was going.

Half - Sack reluctantly turned over the keys to Gemma and mounted his white Harley, preparing to follow the Olds. Gemma had given him no indication of her intentions. 'Jax told me to stay with 'em, that's what I'm doin'.'

The women were seated in the car while Gemma waited for the Scion to pull away. When it moved into the traffic lane, Gemma started the Olds and followed it, with Sack's Harley tagging behind.

The Channel Two 'Breaking News' logo and music flashed across the television screen again. In addition to the logo, the twin rows of bikes separated by the twin patrol cars were part of the opening with the words _'Motorcycle Gangs Beseige Charming'_ emblazoned across the bottom of the picture.

"Oh Gawd!" Cat moaned. "What fucktards!"

"It _does_ seem a little over the top," Sleeved Biker agreed.

The opening faded to a close up of the news anchor, identified by a banner with the Channel 2 logo and his name, David Walker. His voice calmly announced the latest events the station was covering.

"Charming has not lived up to its' name today, beginning with the appearance early this morning of the Mayan motorcycle gang from Oakland and their charters. The gang appears to be providing protection for cigar-store magnate and outed white separationist Ethan Zobelle following his release from Charming Police custody. Zobelle, along with his daughter, Polly, were arrested on undisclosed charges last night."

Walker's image was replaced by a full view of the standoff on Main Street. The anchor's voice continued the narrative in a voice-over.

"Charming's own motorcycle club, the Sons of Anarchy, faced off with the Mayans on Main Street, causing several stores on the block to be evacuated as a precaution. Eventually, a large number of the Sons left the scene, allowing the majority of the Mayan gang to leave with Zobelle."

Another video showing Zobelle's car pulling away from in front of _'Impeccable Smokes' _following a line of motorcycles. Other choppers belonging to Mayan members followed.

The news anchor reappeared in a split screen, with James Windover on the opposite side. "Our reporter, James Windover, has been covering the situation in Charming, and has new information."

"Indeed, David. Reports have been received in our newsroom of San Joaquin Highway Department vehicles blocking traffic on the main artery leading to Stockton. Traffic already on the roadway is being forced to a crawl by slow moving county trucks."

The split screen was replaced by a helicopter shot showing both the long line of travelers snaking behind the mammoth dump trucks while other trucks blocked highway on - ramps. The shot also showed a line of motorcycles leading and following a silver car.

"Zobelle and Alvarez!" Cat remarked. "Oh, shit! Sleeved Biker, you don't think - "

"I have a feelin' they are, Lady Cat," he replied.

'I'm not very assured. This could be bad.' Cat closed her eye momentarily. "Please, Jim, have the sense to warn the viewers! I've got a bad feelin' about this!"

"The Charming PD and the San Joaquin Sheriff's cars escorting the Zobelle motorcade turned off at the town line. We can see a second set of motorcycles followed by a truck coming up fast behind the motorcade. I believe that the Sons of Anarchy are giving chase."

The screen cut to a full shot of Windover in the news van, sitting in front of a monitor, his expression serious. "I would suggest at this time any children watching this be sent from the room. Not that we anticipate anything will happen -"

"Thank you, Jim!" Cat breathed in relief.

The screen changed to a long shot from the helicopter camera again, showing the approaching motorcycles and truck gaining on the motorcade.

The lead rider in the pursuing group raised his right hand and the truck sped up, passing the lead rider and pulling even with, then passing the trailing group of Mayans before coming even for a moment with the Mercedes. The truck passed the Mercedes and the lead group of riders, pulling on ahead.

"- the truck has passed the motorcade without incident," Windover continued off screen. "Wait! It's changing lanes, pulling in front of the lead motorcycles. Gunfire is now pouring out of the back of the truck!" Windover placed a hand to the earpiece, listened and nodded. "I'm told from our eye in the sky that there are Sons in the back of the truck, opening fire on the motorcade."

Three of the lead Mayan motorcycles lost their tires to gunshots. The bikes flew into the air, sending their operators to the pavement. The Mercedes came to an abrupt stop, its' left front tire shot out.

Mayan riders screeched to a stop before hitting their fallen brothers, the stopped car, or each other. Behind them, the pursuing Sons had stopped their bikes and were firing in the direction of the motorcade.

"The motorcade has been forced to stop by the gunfire coming from the Sons. No one's being injured by the gunfire, but I imagine the bikers who fell to the pavement when their tires were shot out were hurt," Windover resumed his narrative. "It appears the Sons are firing more into the air than at any of the Mayans. It's hard to tell from our vantage point."

"I might add that Channel Two is the only area television station providing coverage of this event," Walker interjected.

"Don't have to sound so blasted proud of it!" Cat muttered, earning a grin from Sleeved Biker.

The camera caught Alvarez rushing from the driver's side of the Mercedes and crouching behind it. Alvarez had drawn his own gun but he couldn't determine whether to fire in front of the car or at the Sons behind him. He crouched behind the car's trunk, seemingly unconcerned about Zobelle's welfare.

It was difficult for Cat to determine who was whom amongst the Sons. It looked like all the guys but Half – Sack and Piney were firing from the highway. As hard as she looked, she couldn't tell Alex from the others from the camera height and angle of the shot. 'I hope a stray bullet doesn't hit anyone!'

The driver's door of the Mercedes closed as the car lurched forward on three good tires. The front of the Mercedes struck one of the Mayans who had picked himself off the pavement and sent him flying onto the pavement a second time.

"Wow! That's gotta hurt!" Windover remarked. "Zobelle is using the momentary confusion to escape. The Sons have ceased fire, the leader seems to be yelling at the Mayans, who are scrambling to their bikes and leaving the scene - and their injured fellows - behind them. The Sons are now mounting their own bikes and chasing after Zobelle."

Cat had intensely watched the gun battle, holding her breath and gripping the back of the chair so hard her fingers dug grooves into the padding. She knew the guys were wearing Kevlar, but it was still difficult for her to watch people she knew and loved involved as opposed to battle scenes in a movie.

Once the battle was over and she knew everyone was all right, she released her grip on the chair and nearly collasped from relief. She would've fallen to the floor, but Sleeved Biker caught her in time.

"Easy, Lady Cat! They're OK! Nobody hit 'em!" he murmured soothingly.

"I'm OK. Just indulgin' in a little female behavior. Never seen a real life gunfight before. It's a little unsettlin'."

He helped her to it in the chair, then handed a cup of ginger ale to her. "Here, it's not cawfee, but you need somethin' to settle yer stomach instead of caffeine!"

She nodded her thanks and sipped at the drink. Her mouth had gone dry at the sight of the guys firing purposefully at the Mayans. 'I knew Tig and the guys had their rough edges, always accepted the idea, but never saw it in action.' She sipped some more of the drink and exhaled noisily.

"You a'right, Lady Cat?"

"I will be," she replied grimly.

The helicopter was still hovering over the scene of the battle, showing the left behind Mayans picking up their bikes and limping to the side of the road. The Sons had already roared away in pursuit of the fleeing Zobelle, but the camera had lost sight of the Mercedes and the motorcycles.

"Jim, we're hearing radio traffic that the highway department is being told to allow traffic to resume!" Pesta called over the earpiece.

"I concur," George announced from the helicopter. "The dump trucks are pulling to the side of the ramps, allowing traffic to enter the roadway; the vehicles that were slowing traffic have now started to speed up."

While the helicopter continued to hover, Windover resumed his narrative, "Traffic is being allowed access to the highway. Traffic that was nearly at a standstill is beginning to resume normal speed.

"The disabled Mayan bikes have been moved by their owners to the side of the road, while their brothers have fled. Though shots were fired, no injuries came from the gunplay, and only minor damage to the bikes. Likely a couple of tow trucks will be needed by the Mayans; doubtful it will be a Teller - Morrow provided tow," Windover added ruefully.

"Gee, ya think?" Cat remarked.

"Now, now, Kitten. It was just an observation," Sleeved Biker remarked in a soothing tone of voice.

"Chopper, Powell wants you to follow Zobelle and the Sons, see what happens with them!" Pesta called over the radio.

The screen shifted from an aerial shot of the highway to a close – up of Windover in the news van. "We will continue to monitor this on - going situation and break in to regular programming as needed. Again, a minor shoot - out occurred on the highway outside Charming as the Sons of Anarchy continue their feud with white separationist leader Ethan Zobelle. No injuries occurred, Zobelle escaped the Sons and the Mayans are presumably fleeing back to their home base. We'll have a detailed report and team coverage tonight on the local newscast starting at 5pm. Should there be any further developments, we'll break in again to regular programming. This is James Windover reporting live from Charming."

"And we're out!" The camera operator reported, the red light on his mini – cam had gone dark.

Windover looked up at the on – air monitor. David Walker was providing a wrap - up and plug for the evening newscast before the station returned to regular programming.

Neither Gemma nor Tara spoke as they traveled out of Charming in the direction of Galt. Gemma had a set, determined look on her face that discouraged conversation. Tara's eyes darted from checking on Abel and Half – Sack before returning to gaze at Gemma.

Half - Sack grew concerned as they neared Galt. He had no idea why Gemma was following the silver box - like vehicle and had a bad feeling about the whole scenario. 'I can't call Clay or Jax, not with them hunting down Zobelle. I'm on my own on this one. Please don't let me fuck it up!'

The Scion turned down the street to what Prospect knew was the Hayes' safe house. He'd just been there the day before to retrieve their guns. 'What the Hell are we doing here?'

Gemma parked the Olds several houses away from the safe house, where Polly Zobelle had parked. Half - Sack pulled to a stop and parked across the street from them.

Gemma turned to face Tara, who suddenly recognized the driver of the Scion as the girl Gemma had chased down from the pharmacy parking lot.

Gemma acknowledged that the girl was Zobelle's daughter. Tara suddenly understood Gemma's intention. She tried to talk the club matriarch out of the idea of exacting her own vengance.

Gemma demurred, citing that her son, husband, and the club were fighting for her; she had to do her part. She ordered Tara to get her grandson safe and embraced the girl, citing her gratitude that Tara was a part of Jax's life.

'It almost sounds like a blessing and a farewell," Tara thought. She watched as Gemma, holding the Mother Mary statuette from the dash of the Olds in her hand, emerge from the car and walk purposefully down the street to the safe house.

Tara got out of the car and moved around the back to the driver's side as Half - Sack approached her to inquire what was going on. Tara advised him to wait for Gemma in case she had to make a hasty retreat.

'I'm supposed to stay with 'em both. How the Hell can I watch 'em if they separate?' Half - Sack again considered calling Jax, but didn't. 'Tara should be all right in Charming. Jax and Clay would want me to stay with Gemma.' He didn't feel comfortable with the idea, but was powerless to do anything about it.

He watched as Tara backed the Olds into a driveway and pulled away, while Gemma slowly approached the safe house with her gun drawn. 'I've got a really bad feeling about this!' He settled on the curb next to his bike to wait.

Sleeved Biker turned down the volume on the television, glancing at Cat to make sure she had recovered sufficiently.

Color was returning to her bruised and cut cheeks, the injuries had stood out in contrast to her pale skin for awhile. "Guess it was bound to happen that I was gonna witness somethin' like this," she remarked. "Tee vee and movie shoot - outs are nothin' compared to real life, are they?"

"No, they're not," Sleeved Biker acknowledged quietly. "What can't be conveyed on screen is the way your adrenaline pumps through ya; the way yer heart speeds up and yer skin goes clammy; the sounds of yer own firearm and those around ya goin' off; the smell of heated metal, burnt gunpowder, and blood; the screams and moans of injured or dyin' people - maybe yer brother next to ya – or yer own cries; the feel of a heated gun in yer hand, the way it's weight is a comfort to you. There's no way to make a viewer understand all that. Ya gotta be there."

Cat's eye betrayed her inner turmoil. "Then why could I sense all that just by watchin' it?"

"Because you care about the guys and your old man was in the thick of it. The fact that ya love the guy enabled ya to know exactly what he was experiencin'. I know ya were scared for them, though you knew they were wearin' Kevlar."

"I wonder if I'll ever be able to touch my own gun again," she murmured, barely supressing a shudder.

Sleeved Biker gazed at her. "You will. Tig will make sure of it and you'll get over bein' skittish. Yer a strong woman, that's one of the reasons Tig's with ya."

"I don't feel very strong right now," she replied.

"You are, though. A lot of women would've hidden their eyes under a pillow or changed the channel. Ya kept watchin', not out of horrorifed fascination; ya _cared_ enough to make sure he and yer brothers were safe. If you felt strong after seein' somethin' like that, you wouldn't be human."

Windover and his camera operator packed up the van, securing their equipment for travel. He was still the lead team reporter, but everything that he could do in Charming seemed to be completed.

The two - way radio crackled again. "Things are heating up over there, Windover," announced Pesta. "Cops and the Coroner are being sent to a tattoo shop there. Someone was murdered in the bathroom. No identification, but I'll bet my bottom dollar it's related to all the uproar going on! Get over there and check it out!"

"Roger that," Windover replied, strapping himself into the passenger seat as his camera operator started the engine. Windover entered the tattoo parlor name in the van's GPS system, and it soon routed them to the address. It wasn't far away from Main Street. "Base, unit three, ETA at the tattoo parlor five minutes."

"Unit four to unit three, copy," blared the van radio. Greg Bateman, the reporter assigned to cover the murder at the warehouse was calling in.

"Unit three, go ahead."

"San Joaquin just released the identities of the murdered trio in the warehouse. One was definitely LOAN, named Ule Sommers. Two Hispanic females, still unidentified, were the other victims. The security tape shows Zobelle's employee, AJ Weston, committing the murders."

"Wow!" Windover whistled. "I found out this morning that Weston was arrested last night for the fire at Caracara studios, only to be released because the eyewitness testimony that put him at the scene was deemed unreliable!"

"Somebody in the DA's office shot themselves in the foot on that one!" Bateman observed. "It turns out the warehouse was a repository for Russian guns and heroin! White power and gun powder mixed with white powder!"

"Sounds like a lethal mix to me," Windover's camera operator mumured.

"I'm working on the story now. Will have it for the newscast, or to use in another breaker if one comes up."

"It might. CPD's on the scene of another murder in the bathroom of a tatoo parlor. I'm on my way there now," Windover replied.

"Not a very Charming day there, is it?" Bateman replied ruefully.

"It's not one of their better days, that's for sure," Windover observed. "Unit three out."

"Chopper to unit three, copy."

"Unit three, roger. Go ahead chopper."

"We're flying over town, the Sons are looking for Zobelle's tail. The Mercedes has lost its' tire, got a great shot of it, plus the marks the rim left on the roadway. The Sons aren't going to have any problem following _that_ trail!"

"Any sign of Zobelle?"

"Not yet," George replied.

"OK, Gcorge. Keep me posted."

"You'll be the first I call."

'As if!' Windover thought wryly.

The news van reached the tattoo parlor. CPD cars and several other media vans were already parked on the street.

"Looks like we've no longer got an exclusive," the camera operator laughed.

"It was bound to happen," Windover replied. "All good things eventually come to an end, so does our exclusive."

They piled from the news van, Windover walking over to the yellow police line to learn anything he could and speak with the police spokesman. The camera operator began shooting video.

Windover spotted Deputy Chief Hale standing off to one side and speaking tersely into his shoulder microphone. Sensing he might learn something useful, he sided closer.

"I'm telling you, Wayne, this was SAMCRO's revenge against Weston for the attack on Gemma!" Hale snarled.

Windover wished he could hear Unser's reply, then remembered that his portable radio also monitored police bands. He adjusted the setting until he heard Unser's voice in his ear.

"You were also positive that SAMCRO did the triple murder at that warehouse," Unser reminded him. "Turns out Weston was the triggerman. What makes you think Zobelle didn't have something to do with this?"

"Why would Zobelle have Weston killed? Even if he knew Zobelle is an FBI informant, we know Zobelle was at his cigar store at the approximate time that Weston was killed!"

'Zobelle is an FBI informant? That explains why he was released from CPD!' Windover mused. He pretended to be concentrating on something else, so the other reporters on the scene wouldn't notice that he was on to something hot and interesting.

"And you don't think that Zobelle couldn't have had someone do his dirty work for him?" Unser countered. "That poor bastard at the warehouse was a pawn for Zobelle. That man pretended to be moral while he had his dirty fingers in rape, dope and gun dealing, and white hate. We've only scratched the surface of the scum!"

Hale shook his head in vigorous opposition. "SAMCRO is out for Weston's and Zobelle's blood! Remember that confrontation in the parking lot yesterday? That led to the fight at Timberland. It's not that far – fetched to think SAMCRO is responsible for Weston's death!"

"Let's say for the sake of argument that your instinct is correct. How are you going to _prove _your theory as fact?" Unser countered.

"I don't know. What I _do _know is that two children in the county's care are now without a father! What about justice for them?"

Unser sighed, his voice reflecting his sorrow for Weston's boys. Unconsciously repeating Jax Teller's feelings about the deaths of the two Hispanic women, he replied, "Sometimes, Deputy, collaterial damage can't be avoided. I feel for those boys too, regardless of your opinion. Do we have any idea if Weston has – _had _any relatives?"

Hale felt a moment of anger at his boss's comment about collaterial damage. He nearly missed hearing the sympathy for the Weston childrens' loss in Unser's voice. "We're looking into it," he replied gruffly.

'Maybe that's something we can do,' Windover thought, inching away from Hale towards his news van. Once inside, he used his cell phone to call the assignment editor's desk.

"Channel Two News, Pesta speaking."

"This is Windover. I'm calling because I didn't want this to get picked up on somebody's scanner. The murder victim in the tattoo parlor is AJ Weston. We need to see if one of the interns can find any relatives. The man had children, both are in the custody of SJCFS."

There was silence on the other end of the line, then Pesta replied. "I like that idea. We'll get on it."

"If you get anything, give it to the Family Services Center or Deputy Chief David Hale at Charming PD. This is_ not_ something we need to broadcast or use for promotional purposes."

"Are you nuts? This is a_ great_ human interest angle to all this shit!" Pesta protested loudly.

"Powell said this is my story and my call. I say not for broadcast. Those kids are innocent victims in this. We're doing this for them, not for the glory of Channel Two News!" Windover stated emphatically.

"You'll regret this, Windover!"

"Could be. It won't be the last time." Windover shut off the phone. 'If I lose my job, fine. There'll be plenty of other jobs around. This is important.'

Gemma stalked from the safe house, slipping down the alley to avoid the Feds that would soon be arriving. 'This is fucked up. I can't believe Stahl got the drop on me! If she thinks I'm going anywhere _near _the club so she can pick me up, she's got another think comin'!'

She hurried down the street, unaware that Half – Sack was looking for her. 'If I can make it to the bus station, I can get back to Charming and get out of town from there!' She had a long walk ahead and didn't know how long she had before the Feds started combing the streets for her.

'There's never a cab around when you need one. I doubt Galt has one, anyway!' She hurried on down the street, going as fast as she could until she reached the bus station. She had enough cash for a ticket to Charming. 'If I pay with a credit card, the Feds'll track it. Can't withdraw any cash or go home, either!'

Gemma sat in the middle of the bus in an aisle seat, trying to figure out what she could do, where she could go, and how she would get there. The answers evaded her. Her thoughts insisted on going back over the events at the safe house.

It had seemed so easy. Follow Polly Zobelle inside and then make her pay for her part in the gang rape. 'If I hadn't let myself be concerned for the child she claimed was choking, she'd have never gotten the drop on me that night. I just wanted to scare her, let her know how it felt! Maybe wound her a little.'

Polly had acted like she was going to blow her brains out until the last second, when she'd turned her gun on Gemma. She'd fired first, hitting Polly in the chest. Once the girl was down, a sick feeling had come over Gemma and she'd sat down to gather her wits. That was when Agent Stahl appeared and the nightmare began.

Stahl had made her shove her gun off the arm of the sofa, and stood over her with her own gun drawn. 'The bitch knew about the rape. Damn Hale or Unser for telling her about it! I should've known her letting me go would have a price on it!'

It wasn't until Gemma had passed Polly Zobelle's body that she saw the lifeless body of Edmond Hayes. 'Stahl obviously shot him earlier, that's what Polly was reacting to. That Fed bitch threw her gun to me to get my fingerprints on the gun that killed Edmond Hayes!'

The bus pulled into the Charming depot and Gemma was no closer to an answer to her problem than she'd been in Galt. She had to get out of town, and she had to get out fast. She couldn't call the guys for help; she knew they were chasing after Zobelle. 'There's only one person I can turn to, even if he did tell Stahl about the rape. Can't call from here, though. First place Stahl will look once she doesn't find me at home or the clubhouse.'

For a moment, Gemma wished she hadn't left her cellphone in a desk drawer at the garage that morning. 'I thought we wouldn't need an extra. Probably just as well I don't have it; those blackberry phones can give away a body." She walked the short distance from the bus depot to a tack, feed, and grain store. She found a payphone there and used it to make her call.

Unser's phone rang twice before he was able to dig it out of a pocket and answer. He'd just seen the Sons off on their errand to exact revenge on Zobelle. He was surprised by Gemma's admission that she was on the lam. "Where are you, darlin'?"

"The feed store. On a payphone."

"I'll be right there."

Unser climbed into his car and turned on the lights so the charters guarding the gate would let him out. Once out on the street, he kept the lights going until he was out of the sight of the clubhouse, then he turned them off and headed for the feed and grain store.

Gemma wasn't in sight when he first pulled up. 'I know she's watching. I'll just keep moving slow and wait beyond the building for her.' He rolled the patrol car past the building when she appeared at the passenger side door, opened it, and climbed into the seat. "Let's go!"

She didn't have to tell him twice. They pulled away from the feed store as if everything was normal and headed for the town line. As they passed the sign announcing they were leaving Charming, Unser took her hand in his and asked where they were going. Gemma indicated she didn't know, then related the whole sorry mess to him. "Do you have your cell phone with you?" she added.

"Sure, honey. Gonna call Clay?"

"I can't take the chance. Stahl works fast. She might have the clubhouse, my home phone, and Clay's cell phone traced. I'm gonna call Cat. She can get word to Tig. He can tell Clay."

Unser handed over his cell and continued driving. He'd turned off the police radio as soon as he'd reached the feed store and reported to the dispatcher that he would be unavailable until further notice. 'What Hale doesn't know won't hurt him.'

Windover was writing out his notes in preparation for a taped story when the radio crackled again. "Chopper, this is unit three, copy."

"Unit three, what's up George?"

"Found Zobelle's car. It's parked at the Stallion Deli Mart on the corner of Stallion and Tyler Creek. No sign of Zobelle, he might be inside. I did an extreme close up of the driver's side front wheel. It's toast."

Windover noted the location on his gps. Not too far from the highway. "Any sign of the Sons?"

"Not yet. They split up, each one's taking a street, looking for Zobelle."

"I have a feeling they'll find him. They might also notice the chopper hovering and check it out. Be careful, man."

"You know it. I'll holler if they show up."

"Roger. Unit three out."

The camera operator climbed into the back of the van, ejecting a tape from the camera and sliding it into an editing machine. "Cops are being tight lipped about the identity of the body."

"It's AJ Weston. Hale was discussing it with Unser over the radio and didn't see me hovering. Weston has family. Kids in the custody of SJCFS. I've got an intern working on finding any relatives. Pesta's in a snarl because I won't let him use that on air."

The camera operator winced. "Good publicity for the station, y'know. No wonder Pesta's got his drawers in a wad. You know how he is about anything that puts us in a good light with the public."

Windover nodded. "I don't give a shit about Pesta's drawers. I'm having the interns track down family for the kids' sake. It's bad enough they had a white separationist asshole for a father. They don't need to spend their formative years in the system."

The camera operator grinned knowingly. "Fuck that! You're just an old softie at heart. You might act like a crusty, seasoned journalist, but I know better."

"Shut up and start editin' will ya? I've got a story to write!" Windover growled.

"Unit three, this is base," Powell's voice crackled over the van's radio.

Windover and the camera operator exchanged wary glances. "Unit three here."

"Good call on the Weston kids. I agree that this is one bit of community service that doesn't need to be used for promotional purposes. We may have another link in the chain. Police have requested the coroner to get over to Galt. Two dead bodies, male and female, were found by the Feds in a house there. Seems the Feds were watching the occupant of that house. I've got Mitchener and a crew going out there."

"Jesus, the bodies are stacking up like pancakes!" The camera operator remarked.

"Unit three to base, what's the connection?"

"The Feds have put out an APB on Gemma Teller Morrow for killing Polly Zobelle and some guy named Edmond Hayes. An ATF agent was a witness."

Half - Sack sat on the curb next to his Harley, waiting for Gemma to finish her business in the safe house. He had continued debating with himself about calling either Clay or Jax for advice on handling the situation. 'They're dealing with Zobelle, and probably can't answer the phone. If I'm gonna get my patch, I need to be able to decide for myself how to handle things like this.'

He'd checked the area over and was not pleased that the Feds were nowhere around as they had been the day before. He knew the Feds were hanging around Edmond Hayes in hopes of catching his father; their absence bothered him.

The blare of approaching sirens shattering the quiet of the residential street startled him. He looked up to see several unmarked Crown Victorias racing down the street, red and blue lights flashing in their grilles.

'This isn't good!' he watched the cars screech to a halt and agents converge on the safe house. Half – Sack knew he didn't dare hang around any longer and mounted his bike, driving slowly from his parking space in order not to attract the Feds' attention.

'I've got to find Gemma! Maybe she got out before they showed up. Obviously a Fed was inside the house!' He peered at each house he passed, looking for any sign of the matriarch, but he didn't see her. 'Either she's hiding and afraid to flag me down, or she got away and is hauling ass.'

He turned onto the roadway, still keeping an eye out for Gemma. He didn't see a dilapidated older model car parked at the side of the road or that Cameron Hayes was sitting in the driver's seat. Nor did he have any way to know that Agent Stahl had just broadcast a bogus report blaming Gemma for killing Edmond and Polly, a report Stahl knew Cameron would hear.

Half - Sack continued to watch for Gemma as he motored through Galt. He tried the bus depot, figuring she'd try to catch a ride there, but his effort was unsuccessful. When he reached the Galt town line, he raced back to Charming. He never noticed the same dilapidated old car following him.

Cameron Hayes' car moved along the busy Galt street, heading towards the safe house. He wasn't sure if he'd actually go to the house itself. He'd been listening on the scanner for news of the Feds and his son and knew the Feds were waiting for him. 'I tole me bhoy exactly how ta deal wi' tha Fed bitch! Ifn' 'e does it, 'e kin save both our arses wi' Jimmy O. They've maintained radio silence fer sum time now. I dinna like that. Somethin's up.'

The radio suddenly came to life as Agent Stahl's voice announced a status update. He listened in shock and anger as Stahl related how Gemma Morrow had forced her way into the house, hitting the agent, killing Polly Zobelle and then killing Edmond Hayes with Stahl's gun as Edmond tried to escape.

Cameron pulled up to the curb, not far from the street leading to the safe house. Tears poured from his eyes at the thought of his son's death. He struck the steering wheel of his car several times in grief and pain.

Though he'd severed ties with the Sons when he sold their guns to Zobelle, he had expected the Sons to honor their side of the agreement. To learn that Gemma Morrow was reponsible for killing his son was more than he could endure.

The sound of a lone Harley engine cut into his grief. He looked up to see Prospect's distinctive white motorcycle turn left from the safe house's street. 'Likely the bashturd is lookin' fer that Morrow bitch! I'll follow 'im and find 'er! She'll pay fer killin' me bhoy!'

Cameron started the old car's engine, put it in gear and stealthily followed the white Harley through Galt. 'E's lookin' fer tha bitch, a'right! E's goin' too slow ta be goin' back ta Charmin'. Foine! I'll follow 'im an' whar 'e goes, thar I'll find that bitch! I'll avenge ye, me bhoy!'

His face was set in a look of grim determination as he followed Prospect through Galt's streets. 'She's not 'ere. Likely she took tha bus!' He followed the white Harley from a discreet distance on into Charming. 'E's not goin' ta tha clubhoose. Wherever 'e's goin' e's likely ta lead me ta the bitch!'

He watched the white motorcycle turn down a quiet residential street and park in a driveway next to an older model black Oldsmobile. Hayes parked his car at the end of the street and walked stealthily up to the house. He could hear a young woman talking to the biker.

'That's tha doctor whut patched me bum! Best she not interfere wi' me, whether she saved me life or nawt, I won't hesitate ta keel 'er ifn' I hafta!' He withdrew his gun and stepped quietly inside the house.

The doctor had her back to him, talking on the phone to someone. She turned, saw him holding his gun on her and cried out in surprise. Cameron reached out, took the phone from her, turned it off and threw it to the floor.

Zobelle had managed to put plenty of distance between himself and the Sons before the left front wheel froze on him. By the time the Sons had sent the Mayans away, holstered their guns, mounted their bikes, and cleared the scene of the shoot out, they had lost sight of him.

"There's no way he can get far on that tire," Tig hollered to the others as they mounted their bikes. "Likely he'll take the first exit and find someplace to hole up."

"Then we take that first exit, split up, and search every damn street 'til we find him!" Clay shouted back.

'If he loses the tire and runs on a rim, it'll cut into the pavement. That's what I'll look for,' Tig started his Dyna. 'That track'll lead us right to him.'

The Sons raced to the exit, then fanned out to the streets, some taking North/South routes while others took East/West.

Tig kept a watchful eye out for the rim marks on the pavement as he exited the highway, and was rewarded with the discovery of a discarded car tire on the street he'd chosen. 'Now where is that – gotcha, asshole!' His sharp eyes caught the cut in the pavement, right where the tire lay.

He parked the bike and walked over to the tire, squatted next to it and felt it. 'Yup, has to be from Zobelle's car. Still warm.' He pulled out his cell and dialed Clay's number.

"What?" Clay snarled.

"Found a discarded tire, the size a German luxury car uses. Still warm. There's two grooves in the pavement the size of the rim showin' where he's heading. We can follow that and find him."

"Good catch!" Clay replied approvingly. "Where are you?"

"Tyler Creek."

"Call the others and tell them where you are. I'm on my way."

Tig heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter motor in the air, the same noise that had been over Main Street during the stand off. 'Fuckin' news choppers!' he snorted dismissively. 'Cat's right. They're a bunch of fucktards! Like vultures circling for a kill.'

He called the rest of the club and told them where Clay wanted them to meet. Once the last call was made, he listened to the latest update message, gratified to learn the tube had been removed from Cat's side. 'More progress in the right direction!'

He stared up at the helicopter. It was hovering in one spot, not far from where he'd found the tire. 'Wonder what they're lookin' for?" He had little time to ponder the helicopter's presence as the club descended on him.

The men gathered to plot strategy. "Zobelle can't get far on that rim. The wheel will lock up. Likely he'll go someplace with a lot of people, use them as a sheild," Tig observed.

"He's good at that. We'll follow the tracks, see where they take us and go from there," Clay replied tersely. They mounted up and rode off, following the rim tracks in the street.

Ethan Zobelle cursed for one of the few times in his life and the second time that hour. The damaged and abused tire had fallen off the rim almost as soon as he'd left the highway. The rim made a grating noise as it bit into the asphalt.

'That's leaving a trail Clay Morrow and his gang will easily follow. I need to find someplace safe. Someplace with a lot of people around to act as a buffer. The Sons may want my blood, but they have a code about harming innocents. I can use that to my advantage. Why can't there be a restaurant or gas station around when you want one?'

The car was bucking and lurching under him, protesting the abuse it was taking. He gripped the wheel more firmly as his eyes cast about for a place to hide. He smiled when he spotted a convenience store on one side of the street. A small sized school bus was parked in the lot.

"Perfect!" Zobelle breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled the protesting Mercedes into the parking lot. The wheel seized and froze just as he stopped the car nearly perfectly between the lines of a parking space.

He debated about carrying his bag inside with him. The sound of a hovering helicopter made the decision for him. 'That helicopter is not here on chance. It has followed me here, and the Sons will see it! I have to get inside where I will be protected! The bag will be safe locked in here.'

Zobelle darted out of the car and ran into the deli mart, using the remote to lock the car doors. There were children sitting outside with an adult. They were eating snacks, enjoying a respite from the bus. The children barely looked at him as he hurried inside.

There was another, larger group of children and their adult chaperons lined up at the deli counter. More children who'd already been served were sitting at tables. He stood in one of the entry doors, watching the street. The roar of approaching Harley motors alerted him of the arrival of the Sons.

The Sons rode single file up the street, pulling into the store's parking lot and stopping near the Mercedes. They dismounted and gathered in a huddle facing the doors.

Zobelle moved away from the doors, deeper into the sanctuary of the store. He joined the line at the deli counter, keeping his eyes on the doorway as Tig walked up to the doors and peered inside.

'Take a good look, Mr. Trager. There is nothing you can do to me as long as I am in here.' He smiled as the Sergeant at Arms walked away from the door. 'As much as you and your club want to kill me, your one Achilles heel is that you won't hurt innocents. I'm surrounded by innocents.'

Zobelle moved forward a couple of paces, cutting in the line of children, his eyes still on Trager's retreating back. 'They will discuss their strategy, try to find a way to get to me. I need to call for help.'

He moved away from the deli counter to call CPD. 'I am still in Charming Police jurisdiction. The Deputy Chief still has to protect me!' He waited for someone to pick up the office number he'd dialed as opposed to 9-1-1. "I need to speak to Deputy Chief Hale!" he announced when one of the officers answered the line. "Immediately!"

The officer was about to reply that Hale was out on a call when he spotted the acting Chief walking toward him. "Hold on." He told Hale of the incoming call.

'I have a feeling it's Zobelle. Have I got some news for him," he stopped at an unoccupied desk and hit the blinking button.

As soon as Hale answered, Zobelle tersely demanded police protection. Hale looked at the phone as if he were holding a poisonous snake and leaned on the desk. He calmly informed Zobelle that the Feds had reported his daughter had been killed in a house in Galt.

Zobelle reeled in silent horror and dispair, unable to form a response. His mouth opened, but words didn't come out. He leaned against an unused counter for support, his mind reeling.

Hale smirked at the man's silence before stating he would contact the sheriff's office on Zobelle's behalf. He hung up the phone, still smirking a little and shook his head when the officer asked him if he should call the sheriff's office.

'I've had it with being Zobelle's puppet. Let the Sons have him. It's what he deserves. Sometimes, law enforcement can use a little help to get justice served. I think I can learn to live with that.'

Tig called the deli mart employee from the prepaid instead of going inside the store. 'That would spook Zobelle. I don't wanna see anything happen to those kids.'

Bobby Elvis walked up to the chaperones while waving non – chalantly at the kids. "That businessman inside the store is bad news," he stated quietly to the adults so the kids wouldn't overhear. "Get those kids back on the bus and get out of here as quick as you can."

One of the chaperones went inside and spoke quietly to the other adults. They quickly began herding the children out to the bus.

"Stallion Market," the clerk answered in a semi-harried voice. The boss had taken off on a personal errand, leaving him alone five minutes before the school bus had pulled up, disgorging a herd of hungry kids on him. He had to answer the phone, in case the boss was calling.

"Tig. SOA. Get someplace where you'll be protected. We're getting the kids outta there; that suit is trouble."

"Understood," the clerk hung up and moved to the back room, locking it behind him. He could see everything and anything that happened from the security monitors.

Zobelle watched as the clerk answered the phone then disappeared into the back while the chaperones escorted the children out of the store. 'And so it begins,' he stood in the middle of the empty store, watching the Sons standing outside the parking lot watching him.

Tara had tried to reach Jax's cell phone several times after Gemma left the car, but kept getting voice mail. 'Dammit! I can't leave this kind of news on a message! He needs to know Gemma is putting herself in danger!'

It surprised her to get voice mail, as Jax was usually good at answering whenever she called, no matter what he was doing. 'I hope he's all right,' she tossed the cell phone back in her purse to concentrate on her driving.

Abel dozed in the back, light snores issued from his slightly open mouth. She glanced at the baby in her rear view mirror and smiled slightly. 'Taking care of him makes me want to have Jax's child. I didn't think I'd succumb to the empty womb thing, but the urge is getting stronger every day.'

She decided to go by the house to pick up supplies for Abel. 'It never hurts to be prepared. A few extra bottles and diapers might come in handy.'

She pulled into the driveway, retrieved Abel's carry seat, and entered the house, heading straight for the kitchen. She placed Abel's car seat on the counter and began packing plastic bags with formula, bottles, and extra diapers

Abel continued to doze while Tara worked. She picked up the phone and tried Jax again, but hung up before the voice mail picked up. 'I hope everything's OK with Gemma.' She had her back turned to the front door, pawing through a cupboard. She didn't hear the roar of a Harley in the driveway until Half-Sack opened the door, nearly scaring her. Gemma wasn't with him.

She frowned when she heard Sack relate that the Feds had stormed the safe house just after Gemma had entered it and that she was missing. 'One way or the other, I have to tell Jax!' She grabbed the cordless phone and tried his number again. Miraculously, Jax answered.

She apologized for bothering him and started to tell him about Gemma when Cameron Hayes barged into the house with his gun drawn, making her yelp in surprise. Cameron took the phone from her, turned it off, and tossed it to the floor. Tara backed away as Cameron pushed her to a chair. Half – Sack moved forward. Cameron turned the gun on the Prospect and demanded his weapons.

Tara was trying to be brave, asking questins of Cameron. Prospect knew the doctor was scared. 'Best do as he says. We could get out of this alive. At least I can buy some time until Jax gets here. He had to have heard her cry out and is on his way!'

Half – Sack handed over his gun and knife. Cameron took them and moved towards Tara, muttering about killing an old lady because Gemma had killed his boy. He kept the gun pointed on Prospect as he inched towards Tara.

'That's why the Feds converged on the safe house! Stahl must've still been staking it out, saw Gemma go inside, and called it in! Shit!' Prospect leaped towards Tara in an effort to protect her when Cameron turned the gun on her. Cameron quickly turned the gun on him, pointing it at Prospect's head with a warning not to be a hero.

Half – Sack backed away from Cameron, hands held out to his sides, and sat down in the chair across the table from Tara. Cameron's gun was pointed at Half – Sack the entire time.

Abel heard Cameron's angry voice and began to whimper, catching Cameron's attention. 'What better revenge than to kill one of the Son's sons?' He moved over to the child, keeping the gun trained on the two, crooning at Abel and removing a butcher knnife from the block on the counter.

Cameron held the knife over Abel, murmuring taking a son for a son seemed right to him. Tara screamed a denial and leapt from her chair at the same moment Half – Sack leapt to his feet. Both intended to save Abel from harm.

As they moved, Cameron turned, the knife held out before him. Prospect reached Cameron first, and fell against the butcher knife the grief stricken IRA man held. Cameron's other hand still held the gun and grapsed Half – Sack's shoulder. Cameron pushed the knife into the Prospect's body until it was handle deep.

Half – Sack gasped in shock and pain as Cameron put his full weight behind the knife. Behind him, Tara let out a shocked cry. Cameron gave the knife a vicious twist into Half – Sack's body and then removed the knife. Prospect slumped to the floor, Tara kneeling next to him.

Cameron held the bloody knife in one hand whle bringing the gun to bear on Tara again. The doctor cringed and jerked her hands up in a protective gesture while Prospect's lifeblood seeped out of the gaping wound.

Satisfied that he'd neutralized any threat from the rider and the woman, Cameron turned his attention back to Abel, placing the knife on the counter. 'I can't kill the bairn. But a son for a son still works. I'll replace my bhoy with Jax's.'

He lifted Abel from the car seat and held the baby in his arms, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Cameron had no fear that Tara would try to knock him in the head with a fry pan or the tea kettle. Her mewling confirmed to him that she was no threat to him.

"Now, Doc, if'n ye will kindly get up and walk oot of 'ere. 'Tis nothin' ta be done fer the bhoy there," Cameron held the gun in front of him as if he were still intent on using it on her.

Tara had no choice but to obey. 'So much for being empowered. I can sock the Hell out of Margaret, but when the chips are really down, I'm as powerless as the baby!' She moved into the nursery as Cameron directed and took a seat in the rocker.

Cameron laid Abel in the crib and brandished the knife warningly. "Dinna move and dinna try ta use the phone ta call yer old mon or I'll kill the bairn."

Cameron returned to the kitchen, found a roll of duct tape in a drawer and returned to the nursery. Tara remained sitting in the rocker, her eyes on Abel in the crib. Cameron taped her mouth shut first, then taped her feet and arms to the rocker.

Cameron felt no remorse for treating Tara as he did. 'She might've saved my arse before, but savin' my life don't 'old a match ta me bhoy. Ifn' I dinna bind 'er, she'd rat me oot ta tha Sons. I canna hae that!' He lifted Abel in his arms and left the room, stopping in the kitchen long enough to put the baby in the car seat.

He looked down at Half – Sack and the spreading pool of blood beneath him. "I tole ye not ta be a 'ero, bhoy. Ye died ta pertect a bruther's son. Mebbe ye kin fin' sum comfert in tha'." He turned and left the house.

In minutes, his car was leaving Charming and headed towards the boatyard and freedom. He didn't see any sign of the Sons but knew they'd arrive on the scene any second. The more distance he could put between himself and them, the better.

Tig heard Jax's cellphone ring. 'Wish he'd learn to turn that damn thing off when we're on a job!' He glared at the VP as Jax walked away to answer it. 'Trust his old lady to bug him at a time like this! She really needs to learn there's a time and a place for everything. He's not some kid that has to check in with Mommy every hour!'

He thought of the unused two – way sitting in his pocket. 'Damn thing never went off once during the gun battle, or the stand off! Cat could call it from the hospital phone, but she hasn't. She understands why I can't be with her right now, and she has more reason to need me than the doc needs Jackson!'

Jax's face went pale as he called out Tara's name not once but several times, each shout more urgent than the last before he turned off the phone and turned to look at Clay. Though Zobelle was still holed up inside the now deserted deli mart, Jax stated that something was wrong at his house and he had to leave.

Clay nodded, giving permission for Jax to leave. Opie and Chibs decided to go with him. The three roared away, leaving Tig, Juice, and Bobby with Clay.

'Shit!' Tig fumed. 'Four on one's not bad odds, but seven on one was better!' He stared at Clay, wondering if he should call for reinforcements from the clubhouse. Clay shook his head as if to say "We're more than enough for that asshole!"

The children were being herded into the school bus. Tig knew once the children and their chaperones were safely away from the lot, the Sons would go after Zobelle. 'Yeah, four on one is decent enough odds. He prolly doesn't even have a gun on him. Doubt Alvarez would've been _that _stupid.'

'Don't assume things are always as they appear, love,' he heard his lady's voice as if she were right there with him. She'd said those words often enough to remind him to always be vigilant and expect the unexpected. Too many times in the past, he'd taken things at face value and suffered dire consequences. 'You're right, baby. Alvarez could've given him a gun, or he could have one somewhere in that suit. Best to anticipte anything from that asshole.'

Half – Sack lay on the kitchen rug, feeling his life slipping away just as his blood seeped from the knife wound. 'It's bad; real bad. But it doesn't hurt,' his confused thoughts were mirrored in his eyes, but no one could them. Tara wanted to help him, but Cameron was terrorizing her.

He felt blood oozing from the wound with every heart beat, a heart beat that steadily slowed with each breath he tried to take. 'I'll never get my patch now. But it doesn't matter. I only wish I knew that Gemma was safe. Why couldn't I find her after the Feds stormed the safe house?'

He thought of Chibs, who'd mentored him throughout his prospect year. 'I'm sorry to have let you down, man.'

Kip remembered his buddies from his unit in Afganistan, especially the ones that hadn't made it home alive. 'Guess I'll be seein' them before long.'

He saw Cherry's face as she'd looked the last time they'd been together. He loved her and missed her still. 'Wish things could've been different, babe. If you hadn't had to leave, you'd be a widow by nightfall. I'm glad you've been spared that agony.'

Cameron forced Tara to move away from Half – Sack and into the nursery. 'The Irish asshole has me pegged a'right. Nothin' Tara can do to save me. That knife went too deep for her to stitch me up.' He remembered how she'd worked to save Cameron's life months earlier, and wondered if they'd made a mistake in doing so. 'Too late to regret it now. At least he's not gonna kill Abel or Tara.'

He shivered with cold, though the weather was warm. 'Nothing cwarm about this trip!' His sight was getting blurry; it was harder for him to focus on the ceiling tiles above him.

He heard the tread of heavy footsteps approaching, and Abel's cries. He tried to raise himself from the floor; it was just too much for him. 'I'm sorry, Jax.' He fell back to the floor, hardly able to see or hear the IRA man speak to him before he carried the baby from the house.

Darkness crept into Kip's vision, a dark ring that allowed him to see only a small amount of light and grew smaller with each labored breath. 'So this is what it's like to die. Not a sudden thing, just a gradual seeping away. There's so much I wanted to do, thought I had plenty of time.'

Memories of his life, going back as far as he could remember flashed in his mind, like flipping quickly through the pages of a photo album. Christmases, vacations, and birthdays with his family; his first day of school; graduating high school; his first date; the first time he got laid. Prom. Enlisting and basic training. Getting his nut blown off in combat. Coming home. Prospecting the Sons. Meeting Cherry and falling in love with her. The boxing match he wasn't supposed to win. Running guns for the IRA and rescuing Tig from the bogus bounty hunters. The fight at Timberland. 'All in all, it's been a pretty good life.'

The dark ring surrounding his eyesight grew fuller, cutting out the light. He tried to call out to Tara. He could hear her muffled sobs from the nursery. He wanted to give her some comfort. Nothing worked, his body refused to obey.

A shiver ran through him. He thought of Tig's old lady and the way she treated him with respect. 'She always called me by my given name. I hope Tig makes it permanent with Lady Cat. She's good people. Good for the club but even better for him.'

A mental image of the guys together in church, before all the shit hit the fan, formed in his mind's eye. Clay at the head of the table, Tig to one side, Jax to the other. Bobby and Juice next to Jax, Piney opposite Clay at the other end of the table, Opie next to his father, and Chibs beside Tig.

'I'd hoped to sit at that table for good one day. Wonder where my chair would've been? Next to Chibs? Would it have been between him and Ope? Maybe next to Tig? That would've been neat!'

The image of the guys in church faded to black as his life left his body.

Duke Weston stared coldly at Mark and the detectives swarming around him like bees in a hive. Their voices droned questions that he would not answer. 'I'm not talking to them! Daddy said not to say anything to the police, no matter what! I'm going to obey Daddy's last wish!"

Despite his inner bravado, Duke struggled to remain composed. The little boy in him wanted to cry over his loss. He couldn't let that little boy have control. 'I have to be strong for Daddy and Cliff.'

His eyes moved from one face to another, seeing their mouths moving, but hearing nothing of interest. The adults just kept asking the same questions since Officer Eglee had discovered his father's body.

"Duke, you _have _to talk to us!" Mark exclaimed. His patience, known to be limitless, was wearing thin. "You were with your father in the bathroom, you must have seen the killer or killers waiting for him! Don't you _want _your father's killers punished?"

Duke glared at the caseworker, his eyes full of venom and hate. 'Of course I want Daddy's killers punished! What the Hell do you think I want, to hand them a gold medal for making me an orphan?'

Duke was finally embracing a lesson his father had tried for six years to teach him; the power of hate. He hated the Charming police officer who had called CPS, and the caseworker who'd taken him away from his home. 'If it hadn't been for them, this wouldn't have happened!' Most of all, he hated the three men who'd been standing in the bathroom, guns drawn, waiting for his father. 'I hate them all! I hope they rot in Hell!'

Duke continued to stare stonily at the adults, until Mark shook his head and turned to the detectives. "I don't know, guys. He can hear us; he's reacting to us, I can tell by his facial expressions. He's just not willing to talk. Maybe it's trauma induced. It's possible that he didn't see anything."

"Think the kid needs to talk to a shrink?" One of

the detectives inquired.

"We're not getting anywhere with him at the moment. Getting him out of here might be better in the long run," Mark replied wearily.

"Then best take him back to SJCFS, man. Kid might be more willin' to talk away from the scene. He's our only hope of getting a lead on the killers."

"C'mon, Duke," Mark spoke quietly and gently to the child. "Let's get out of here."

Duke felt a moment's panic. 'No! I don't want to leave Daddy behind!' Then a wave of calm determination swept over him. He heard his father's voice remind him he was loved, and not to say anything to anyone, no matter what, including the police.

'_That's not me in there, Dukie. You need to go. Be __smart. You'll know when the time has come to __avenge me_,' his father's voice enfolded him in its' warmth and love, giving him the courage to rise from his chair and walk with head held high out the door to the caseworker's car.

Mark and the detective exchanged glances. "Good luck with that one, man," the detective observed. "Kid's tryin' to act tough. Wouldn't be surprised if he breaks down on the way back to the facility."

During the short ride back to the SJCFS, Duke sat as close to the door as possible, watching the road ahead and not speaking. His eyes were as dry as a desert.

Chibs was the first to burst through the front door of Jax's house, his attention captured by the sight of Half – Sack lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. The kid's eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. Chibs knew immediately that the kid was gone, and his heart broke. He knelt at Prospect's head as Jax rushed in, saw the kid lying motionless on the floor and began calling Tara's name.

'Shit! Not the doc, too!'

Chibs leapt to his feet and ran after Jax and Opie. They found Tara in the nursery, bound with duct tape to the chair. Jax removed the piece of tape over her mouth and Tara stammered that Cameron Hayes had broken into the house, killed Half – Sack and took Abel.

Jax glanced into the crib, shocked to find it empty. He rushed through the house, hoping Tara was mistaken, but his son was no where to be found. 'Shit!'

Chibs and Opie cut Tara loose from the duct tape. She stammered that she'd wanted to try to help Sack, but Cameron hadn't allowed it as they worked to free her. Chibs' heart broke all over again to hear how his protege had died. 'The puir lad! 'E was so close!'

Jax returned to the nursery, his face pale. He paced around and then pulled out his cell phone to call Clay. He spoke only three words when Clay answered.

"We'll meet up with you. If Cameron has Abel, he'll be heading for the boatyard." Clay turned off the cell, feeling as if a two ton block had settled in his gut.

Jax could see that though shaken, Tara was otherwise unhurt. 'I don't have time to comfort her. I've got to get Abel back!' He ran from the room, Chibs and Opie right on his heels. "Cameron's already got a big lead on us! Clay thinks he'll be heading for the boatyard!"

As the roar of Harley engines receded in the distance, Tara got up from the rocker and staggered to a phone to call 911.

James Windover shook his head as the police scanner announced yet more violence in Charming. This time, a murder and kidnapping was reported at a private residence.

"This is beginning to feel like something from the 'Twilight Zone'! I expect to hear Rod Serling do a voice over at any moment!" The camera operator observed, gunning the engine and pulling away from the tattoo parlor.

"This can't _all_ be related to the League!" Windover murmured. He did an internet search of the address, his eyebrows rising as the search gave the owner of the house as Jackson Teller. "Then again, maybe it is! He's one of the Sons!"

"Holy cow! Is the dead person one of the Sons?"

"I don't know, man. There's something strange about this. Weston and Zobelle's other minion, Ule are both dead. Zobelle is holed up at the deli mart under the watchful eye of the Charming club. How could the League arrange to kill a Son and kidnap a child?"

The camera operator shook his head. "Stranger things have been known to happen, man."

The news van turned down the block ans stopped in front of Jax's house. There were no police on the scene, but sirens in the distance heralded their arrival. The camera operator leapt out and started recording video footage while Windover crept past the open front door.

Before he'd gotten too far inside the house, a CPD patrol car pulled into the drive behind the classic Olds and the white motorcycle parked next to it. "Hold it right there!"

"Channel Two News!" Windover hollered.

"I don't care if you're Jesus Christ!" the officer roared. "Get outta there! That's a crime scene!"

Windover kept his hands up and started to back away from the entrance, but not before he got a look at the body lying in the kitchen, plainly visible from the door. 'It's that Prospect kid! I remember him from the rally! How did Zobelle manage this?'

Duke turned his gaze on Mark as the car pulled into the SJCFS lot. Mark was struck again at how painfully adult those eyes had become.

"I want to see my brother. I should be the one to tell him about our father," Duke's voice was flat and toneless, but determined. The cold deadness in the child's expression unnerved Mark, it was like nothing he'd ever witnessed in his career.

"I don't -"

"Don't tell me it's not possible," Duke added in the same toneless manner, swiftly cutting off the caseworker's protest. "Do it."

Mark inwardly shuddered at the child's tone. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Duke got out of the car and walked to the door of the facility. When he got inside, Duke returned to a corner of the playroom, and sat quietly just as he'd done before his father had come to visit. The difference between that time and this was the child's cold demeanor. The frightened, sad expression had been replaced with one of cold hate.

Mark checked in with the director of the facility, briefing her on the Weston boys' loss. "Do we know if there are any relatives?"

"We've been looking into that since Chief Unser called," she replied sadly. "The older one has been a handful as it is, this kind of news is going to make him worse."

"It's already having a detrimental effect on the younger one. He wouldn't talk to police about what, if anything, he saw when he and his father were in the bathroom. He's hiding behind an emotional wall of ice. He wants to see his brother and tell him of their loss."

"You told him that's not normally done, I trust."

Mark waved his hands in a submissive gesture.

"I tried. The kid's not hearing it. It's weird; his eyes just stare right at you, like they can see into your soul and he doesn't like what he sees."

'If anyone else said that, I'd think they were full of it. Mark's one of the best I have. But how can a six year old kid spook a grown adult?' The director stared at Mark before deciding to take matters into her own hands. "I'll talk to him. He has to realize that this is something best left to the professionals."

"Good luck with that one, boss," Mark replied, his tone of voice indicated he felt she'd need it.

"Is he in the playroom?"

Mark nodded. "Same position he had when his father came to get him. He just stares into space."

The director stood and walked from her office, intent on putting an end to the problem by talking to the Weston child herself. She found Duke sitting in a chair in a corner, not watching the other children or the television, watching the doorway.

She walked over and hunkered down so that she was on a level with his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear about your Dad. We're trying to find relatives that might be able to be with you and your brother."

'Yeah. "You're sorry". Like Hell! And you're trying to find my relatives? All you had to do was ask if there's someone to call. There is, but damn if I'll tell you, bitch!" Duke stared coldly at the director without speaking to her or acknowledging her presence.

The director shuddered as if someone had slipped a block of ice between her shirt and back. The boy's eyes were dark and hard, the eyes of someone who had seen the worse life had to offer for many decades. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"I want to see my brother," Duke replied coldly, still refusing to look directly at the woman. "Is it so much to ask that I be the one to tell him our father is dead?"

"No, it isn't. But -"

"No buts!" Duke snarled with an anger beyond his tender years. "Just make it happen."

The director nearly fell back on her butt at the intensity of the child's hositility. She quickly regained her composure, refusing to back down to a mere child. "I can't 'just make it happen'. Your brother is not in a good place emotionally. This kind of news isn't going to do him any good."

"And you think keeping it from him will? How are you going to keep him from learning it from the television, or from one of your 'well – meaning _professionals_'? Will the news be any easier for him to take from strangers?"

'The kid's got a point there. Sooner or later his brother is going to hear about it. Maybe it's better coming from his brother than a stranger.' The director stood up, unconsciously rubbing her hands as if she were trying to wipe a stain from them. "I'll

see what I can do."

Duke's eyes coldly indicated he wished her to leave. The director was more than happy to comply. Those hauntingly mature eyes coming from Duke's formerly innocent face unnerved her more than she wanted to admit.

Windover continued watching Teller's house while detectives and technicians from the coroner's office bustled in and out. Other reporters joined him in the wait, including Greg Bateman from his own channel, who'd finished gathering information at the warehouse and come over to cover the latest un – Charming murder.

Windover motioned for Bateman to join him in the van. 'Best place to compare notes and plot strategy without the competition overhearing us,' he jotted his notes on the day's events in their chronological order as Bateman settled in the front passenger seat.

"Here's the 'b' roll of the warehoue and my standup from there," Bateman handed the tapes to Windover.

"Good deal. Here's what's going on inside. The victim is a young male. I don't have his name, but saw him at the peace rally the other night. He was prospecting membership with the motorcycle club. Don't know if there's any other victims inside, only saw the one before the cops chased me out."

Bateman was making notes so he could do a stand up in front of the scene when the police scanner announced an Amber Alert from Charming PD.

"Holy shit! Now what?" Bateman whistled.

"An Amber Alert has been issued by the Charming, CA Police Department. Eight month old Abel Teller, last seen wearing a light blue onesie and a light blue beanie with the words 'Sons of Anarchy' and a Grim Reaper patch stitched on the front of it.

Abel Teller was taken at knife and/or gunpoint from his home in Charming less than an hour ago. Believed to have been taken by Cameron Hayes, a known member of the Irish Republican Army and an arms dealer. Hayes is suspected in the death of an unidentified Charming resident and is considered armed and dangerous. There is no information on a vehicle. Hayes is described as . . ."

Bateman jotted down the description of the alledged childnapper for use in his story. "This is worse than an onion. No matter how much you peel away, another nasty layer turns up!"

"I'm beginning to get the same feeling," Windover acknowledged.

"Chopper to unit three!" blared the radio speaker.

"Unit three, copy," Windover keyed the mic in response. "What's up George?"

"The Sons that stayed behind at the Stallion Market just took off like bats out of Hell! Zobelle's alone, likely to escape intact. What do you want me to do?"

"Abel Teller's been kidnapped. Likely the Sons are leaving to find the kid. Stay on Zobelle, I'd like to know where he goes, now that he's free to travel."

"Roger," George hestitated a moment, then added, "Wouldn't we do more good helping with the search for the kid?"

"If we knew the type of car the asshole was driving, sure. The Amber Alert gave no vehicle discription. You'd just waste gas. By following Zobelle, you'll have something tangible to show for your air time." Windover's face clouded over at the idea, but in his heart, he knew it was the right decision.

"I figured as much. Doesn't hurt to ask. I hope they find the kid," George replied.

"So do I."

"Base to Unit Three, copy." Powell's voice blared over the speakers.

"Unit three, roger."

"We're going to do a live special at 430, beat the other stations to the air. Will you have be ready to go?"

Windover checked his watch and did some quick calculations. "Yeah. We can be. Bateman's here, brought his report from the warehouse deaths. I think we'll be able to go."

"We're running a crawl with the Amber Alert. Let us know if you find out anything we can add. Chopper, continue monitoring Zobelle, get any video of where he goes. Likely he'll leave that convenience store as soon as he can get a ride."

"A cab just pulled up and Zobelle got into it. I'm gathering video as we speak."

"Roger, base out."

"Unit three, this is Jan Mitchener. I'm at the murder scene in Galt. We've got video and an interview with an ATF agent that witnessed the incident. I'll be ready to go live."

"Roger that, Jan. Thanks," Windover replied. He looked down at his notes, picking out names as he read. 'Teller. Hayes. Zobelle. Morrow.' He keyed the radio mic again. "Unit three to unit five, copy."

"Unit five, Mitchener here."

"I'm playing a hunch here. Any idea if Edmond Hayes has family?"

"Yeah. Weird thing about that. Agent Stahl came right out and said that Edmond was the son of a known IRA member named Cameron Hayes."

'Cameron Hayes! There's the connection between the two murder scenes. Cameron Hayes knows Gemma Teller Morrow killed his son, he takes off with Jax Teller's son in revenge.' Windover winced at the grim series of co-incidences. "Usually cops don't release that kind of information until next of kin is notified."

"I wondered about that. Stahl acknowledged that Polly Zobelle was in a relationship with the younger Hayes."

"Wonder why the Fed was being so cooperative? Did she seek you out?"

"As a matter of fact, she did. You think she had an agenda?"

"Hard to tell with the Feds, Jan. Get your report ready, but let's stick with the facts we have. We have connections to the SOA and the Zobelles and now the Hayes. That's enough for now."

"Roger."

The televised shoot out on the highway had proved too much for Cat. Seeing the scrolling Amber Alert about Abel and a death at Jax's house didn't help matters. She requested one of the anti-anxiety pills Dr. Gallagher had prescribed in hopes she could relax a little, maybe even sleep. Her keyed up emotions made sleep elusive, so that she was wide awake for the Channel 2 news special.

The stand off on Main Street and the shoot out on the highway started the report. Cat inwardly rejoiced to learn that AJ Weston had been killed, though she felt bad for his children. 'I know Jax did the deed to avenge Gemma. I'm glad he's dead, God forgive me for thinkin' it. Weston was a rabid dog, and that's the only way they can be dealt with.'

It wasn't hard for her to figure out the identity of the murder victim in Jax's house, as he was the only person 'prospecting membership in the motorcycle club'. Learning of Prospect's death hit her hard.

"Dammit! Not Kip!" Tears flowed down her cheeks from both eyes as she thought of the last time she'd seen him, the night of the accident. She looked down at the hand he'd kissed before he'd left that night. In seconds, the bandage covering her injured eye was soaked.

"Kip? Who's Kip?" Sleeved Biker asked.

"The Prospect. Half – Sack. His given name was Kip," she explained brokenly. "I've been scared ever since that Amber Alert mentioned someone was killed in the house that Piney or one of the charters, or Tara, or Gemma had been killed!" She drew a shuddering breath. "I'm hopin' that Tara and Gemma are OK! They usually go around together. Gemma dotes on the baby." She glanced ruefully at her companion. "Sorry, I'm ramblin'!"

Sleeved Biker didn't think twice about reaching out a hand to clasp hers in comradeship and sympathy. "It's OK, kitten. You're upset and scared. You're entitled to ramble."

"Do ya think the guys know?"

Sleeved Biker pointed to the screen. An aerial shot of the Stallion Market parking lot showed three of the Sons leaving at high speed. The close up clearly showed the departing riders as Jax, Opie, and Chibs.

"Before the Amber Alert on Abel Teller went out, his father, Jackson Teller, a member of the Sons of Anarchy, left the parking lot where the club had Ethan Zobelle cornered," Windover's narrative continued. "Later, the remaining Sons left that same parking lot, leaving Zobelle free to leave the deserted convenience store in a cab."

Windover's explanation was spoken over shots of the Sons leaving the area at the same speed that Jax and the others had taken moments earlier. Then a cab pulled into the lot and Zobelle came out, walked to his battered car, removed a bag, and left in the cab.

"Our eye in the sky followed Zobelle to Stockton, where the cab let him out at Lakeport Charters. Zobelle may not be aware that his daughter, Polly, was murdered in a house in Galtthis afternoon, along with a young man ATF Agents identified as Edmond Hayes. Jan Mitchener has that story."

A dark haired, tanned female reporter stood in front of a house cordoned off with yellow police tape. "Two young people were murdered in the house behind me earlier today. ATF agent Jane Stahl - "

"What's that bitch got to do with it, and why is she bein' so damn helpful to the press!" Cat growled, brushing the tears from her cheeks.

"Hush, kitten. We'll soon find out."

"-identified the dead as Polly Zobelle, daughter of cigar baron Ethan Zobelle, and Edmond Hayes."

The reporter was shown interviewing Agent Stahl, who stared imploringly into the screen. "An all points bulletin has been issued for the arrest of their killer, Gemma Teller Morrow -"

"Bullshit! Gemma's no where near Galt!"

"Shhh!" Sleeved Biker whispered consolingly. "Hush, Lady Cat. We'll learn more by listenin' than by reactin'."

She glared at him, but held her peace and watched as Stahl spun her web of lies. "The ATF had Edmond Hayes under surveillance. His father is a known IRA member. I was inside with his son when Polly Zobelle entered without knocking. Suddenly, Mrs. Morrow appeared, sucker punched me and grabbed my gun. She shot the girl in the chest, then shot Edmond Hayes in the back when he tried to escape."

"Now I know the bitch is lyin'!" Cat snarled. "If Gemma had punched her, there'd be a mark on that rat face of hers! Look at her! Does she look like she was sucker punched?"

"Not if Gemma hit her elsewhere."

Cat glared at Sleeved Biker. "Gemma never hits below the neck. She goes for the face. Always."

Sleeved Biker was worried. 'She's gettin' herself worked up over this report. She keeps this up, she might undo everything that's started to heal!' He strode to the door, peeked outside, and waved down a passing nurse. "You'd better get somethin' for Lady Cat. She's upset by all the stuff on the news and might do herself some hurt."

The nurse nodded and hurried to the drug room, returning moments later with a syringe. She walked into the room and glanced at the patient, whose color was pale. Her right eye was red and puffy and tear stains on both cheeks gave mute testimony to her distress.

"Turn that thing off!" The nurse ordered Sleeved Biker, who rushed to the television and pushed the control button. She walked over to Cat and displayed the syringe. "You've had enough excitement for now, Ms. Marshall. Dr. Gallagher ordered you to rest as much as possible. I'm going to give you a shot to calm you."

Before Cat could protest or move her arm out of harm's way, the nurse had rubbed her arm with alcohol and jabbed the needle home, sending the medicine rushing into a vein.

"Damn you both to Hell!" She snarled, glaring angrily at Sleeved Biker and the nurse. She started to get up from the bed but fell back against the pillow as the medicine quickly took effect. Her eyes closed despite her efforts to fight the drowsiness.

"She'll be OK," the nurse assured Sleeved Biker. "The tranquilizer works quickly to soothe someone in a heightened state of agitation. There's been bad news on television and radio all day. I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did."

"Thanks, nurse," Sleeved Biker sighed with relief, resuming his seat next to the bed. "She took the news about the murder and kidnapping at Jax Teller's house pretty hard. Mainly the murder."

"The murder victim wasn't her old man, was it?" the nurse asked.

"No. It was the kid, the one they called Prospect. She liked the kid, and learnin' about his death on the TV really upset her." He didn't feel the need to elaborate on the claim Stahl had made about Gemma.

The nurse nodded in sympathy. "It's never easy to hear about the loss of a friend. Learning about it from television isn't the best way to hear about it, either. I'll come back in a moment to change the bandage on her eye; it'll do no good to her soaked like that."

The director of the SJCFS returned to her office after talking with Duke Weston, still shaken by the encounter. 'That child is scary! I thought his father had an intense appearance. Duke has gotten just as intense!' She sat at her desk, not really looking at anything, fighting for control over her fear of the child. She finally felt calm enough to pick up her phone and dial the extension of the staff psychiatrist.

"Jesse Bethan speaking."

"Jesse, it's the director. I need to talk to you about the Weston kids."

"Sad thing for them to lose their father. Want me to tell the older one?"

"No. The younger brother, Duke, wants to talk to his brother. I want to get your thoughts on it. Can you come to my office?"

"I'm on my way." He gathered up some of the drawings Cliff Weston had drawn during their sessions. 'She needs to see these. These drawings show just how detrimental the enforced separation from his family has been.'

Cat felt like she was floating on a raft on a lazy stream with not a care in the world, except for an annoying ringing in her ear that brought her out of that feeling. She was momentarily confused about her surroundings, but quickly remembered where she was and realized the ringing was coming from the room telephone.

Sleeved Biker stepped out of the bathroom, zipping his pants as he walked towards the phone. 'Never fuckin' fails. Let a body need to take a whiz, the damn phone gets diarrhea of the ring!'

She reached across to pick it up, grabbing it before Sleeved Biker could. "Yallo!" She chirped hoarsely, hoping it was either her father or Alex.

"Ms. Marshall, this is the switchboard operator. Police Chief Unser is calling for you. He's not on the list that Mr. Trager provided," The operator had a pleasant voice, soothing Cat's monetary disappointment. "I wanted to check with you before putting him through."

"Thanks. I appreciate the courtesy, ma'am. Please put him through." Cat's heart plunged into her stomach for a moment. 'Nothin' bad's happened to Alex. Wayne wouldn't be callous enough to tell me somethin' like that over the phone!' She placed her hand over the mouthpiece and mouthed, "Chief Unser" in response to SleevedBiker's questioning gaze.

"Relax, kittenface. It's not about Tig. Cops don't call with bad news, they bring it in person," he hastened to assure her.

Cat nodded but gripped the receiver so hard that her knuckles were white.

"Cat?" A familiar female voice spoke in her ear. "It's Gemma. I'm with Unser."

Cat closed her eyes in silent gratitude and relief. When she spoke, she was surprised that her voice was calm and steady. "What's up?"

"I'm on the lam, kitten."

Cat schooled her reaction so that Sleeved Biker wouldn't catch on to the gist of the conversation.

"I see."

"Shit, I forgot you've got a charter keeping watch. Right beside you, I suppose?"

"Something like that," Cat replied.

"Any chance you can get rid of him? We really need to talk."

Hang on a minute," she put her hand over the receiver. "Hey, Sleeved Biker, would you mind takin' a smoke break? This is gonna take a bit. Don't want ya bored out of yer skull."

Sleeved Biker gazed intently at her. "What's goin' on, Lady Cat? Is it about Tig after all?"

"Nah!" She forced a cheerful note in her voice. "Just some more questions about the wreck. I guess Unser's wrappin' up the investigation. You don't mind, do ya?"

'I have a feelin' she's up to somethin'; no sense in tryin' to fight her. Tig's the only person who can keep her under any semblance of control!' He shrugged. "Guess not. Be back in a few."

When the door closed behind him, Cat took her hand away from the receiver. "Coast is clear. I'm glad to hear you're safe. It's already been on the news. What the Hell really happened?"

Gemma briefed her on the events that occurred in Galt at the safe house. "Stahl's setting me up. I admit to shooting Zobelle's daughter. Edmond was already dead. My money's on Stahl shooting him. She's got my fingerprints on both guns. Unser was the only person I could think of to help me get out of town."

Cat exhaled noisily. "Holy Sheep!"

"That's sayin' a mouthful, honey!"

"Are y'all in his personal car? I don't hear any radio chatter."

"You're sharp, kitten. We're in his patrol car. He's turned off the radio."

'They don't know about Abel, then. Best she not know, she'd come back and Stahl would get her before she stepped foot out of Unser's car!' Cat closed her eyes a moment, fighting to keep her voice calm and controlled. "What can I do to help?"

"I dunno how long I'll be away, kitten. I need you to watch out for the guys while I'm gone. They're gonna need a calm influence. I don't think Tara, much less Lyla, are capable of providin' that for the guys. They're gonna need your strength and support. Tig's really gonna need you, too; Clay's gonna rely heavily on him."

Chuckie's rote response, 'I accept that' came to mind. "No worries, lady," Cat assured her. "It's not like they can keep me here forever. Any idea where you're goin'?"

"Not exactly," Gemma sighed wearily. "North seems like a good idea."

"Worked for the draft dodgers. Course, back then it was easier to cross boundaries than it is now."

"Where there's a will, there's a way. If the Mexicans can find their way in, I'll find a way out," she replied determinedly.

"You want me to get word to Clay." It was a statement of fact.

'I _knew _she'd catch on!' Gemma nearly choked up, her voice thick with unshed tears. "But not by phone or a voice message. It's gonna have to be in person and as soon as possible. I can't risk calling him. Not on Unser's phone if I wanna keep it safe. Definitely _not _from a payphone -"

"There's no guarantee that Stahl hasn't already tried to track Clay's cell, tap the garage and clubhouse phones, plus y'all's own house," Cat interjected. "I have no doubt that Tig can sniff out any listening devices and neutralize them in no time, but there's no sense in taking unnecessary chances."

"For someone with little prior experience with the outlaw lifestyle, you're a quick study, kitten."

"The key word is 'prior'. I haven't always trod the straight and narrow, Gemma. I've learned a lot of things – some of them the hard way."

Gemma laughed in response. "We're a lot alike, baby. I know the guys are in good hands with you. Watch over them for me, keep them out of trouble."

"Hey! I'm no miracle worker!" Cat's laugh warmed the heart of the fugitive.

"Take care of yourself, kitten. You're good for Tig - and for us. Love you."

"Love you, too, Lady. Be safe. Can I speak to Unser for a minute?"

She could hear the phone changing hands, then Unser murmured, "What's up, darlin'?"

"Keep your radio off, Wayne. Don't say anything to let Gemma know what we're talkin' about. Abel was kidnapped by Cameron Hayes and he killed Kip. It's Stahl's fault, but we can't let Gemma know. There's an Amber Alert out for Abel, dunno how far it'll spread."

"Not where we're going," Unser replied, his hands going cold as ice at the news. 'This will hit the club hard. It'll hit Gemma really hard.'

"Give me your cellphone number. Later tonight, I'll call your phone from Tig's prepaid. It's harder to trace. We can let Gemma talk to Clay and Jax that way. I think it'll be easier on them to hear it from her."

"OK, darlin'. Thanks." He rattled off the telephone number, which Cat wrote on her notepad.

"You two stay safe," she replaced the receiver and sat with her chin in her right hand, her mind working furiously.

"Was that really Unser on the phone, Lady Cat?" Sleeved Biker inquired when he returned from his smoke break and found her sitting and thinking.

"It's was and it wasn't. I'm gonna share somethin' with you; it's to stay between you and me."

Sleeved Biker nodded, spat in his hand and held it out. She spat in hers and clasped his outstretched hand, cementing their agreement. "Gemma's on the lam," she announced, filling the SAMPOR rider in on the few facts she'd gotten over the phone.

"Hole-lee shit!" Sleeved Biker whistled. "That's a mess, a'right!"

"And I can't do what needs to be done from here!" Cat replied resolutely.

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Whaddya mean by that?"

"Just what it sounds like, darlin'!" Cat started to reach for the call bell, then decided against it and slid to the floor.

"Where ya goin'? Another walk?"

"In one sense of the word. C'mon along if you're comin,'" she replied, sliding into the robe and tying the belt around her.

Once in the hallway, she turned to the nurse's station instead of the elevators as she usually did. Sleeved Biker hurried after her.

She paused at the nurses's station, a long, semi-circular raised desk. Two clerks and other staffers were behind it. One of the nurses sensed her presence and looked up. "How can I help you. Miss Marshall?"

"I need some clothes to wear on the outside, please. I don't have time to wait for someone to bring some from home," she announced. "Somethin's come up and I gotta leave to deal with it."

"You're condition was just upgraded from critical this afternoon. The eye surgeon hasn't seen you yet!" The nurse protested.

"I know, ma'am. If he and Dr. Gallagher are in the building, then I need to see 'em. With or without their blessin', I'm leavin."

The nurse stared at the woman's resolute expression and sighed inwardly before turning to one of the aides. "Find a pair of scrubs for Ms. Marshall while I page the doctors."

"Thanks for understandin', Nurse," Cat murmured, turning away from the desk and returning to her room.

The nurse picked up the phone and dialed both doctor's pager numbers.

Dr. Jesse Bethan was a young psychiatrist with a brand – new doctorate in psychology and a minor in art therapy. He was tall, with dark curly hair and blue eyes that twinkled with life behind his glasses. The kids liked him, whether they could draw a straight line with a ruler or not. They trusted him and would talk to him when they wouldn't speak with anyone else.

"Tell me about Cliff Weston. What do you think?" The director asked as soon as Jesse entered her office with the boy's file and some drawings.

"He's troubled. His exposure to white hate has definitely had an adverse effect on him. The forced removal from his home did a more thorough job," he replied, laying the drawings on the desk in front of her.

The director looked down at the pages, recoiling slightly from the sight of the dark, disturbing images Cliff Weston had drawn. "These couldn't have been drawn by a 10 year old!"

Jesse nodded. "They were. He may be 10 years old physically; emotionally and psychologically, his experiences have aged him. Note that I didn't say they matured him. He is quick to lash out at anyone who opposes him, or poses a threat to him. That's why he was willing to kill Jackson Teller. He believes that he had the right to protect himself with deadly force. If he doesn't have a nuturing, loving influence in his life, he'll continue to deteriorate."

"Do you think it's a good idea to have his little brother tell him their father is dead?"

Jesse pondered that question carefully. "I'm not sure it would be a good idea, but I can't say it's a bad one, either. He's got to hear it from _someone_. At least he can hear it from family. But they shouldn't be alone when they meet."

"Then maybe you should be on hand, in case things go bad beween the pair."

Jesse nodded. "I could talk with Duke, if you think it'll make any difference."

The desk phone rang, the director laid a hand on the receiver. "Give me a moment. We've been trying to find any living relatives." Jesse nodded again as the director lifted the receiver. "SJCFS. Janet Lee speaking."

"This is Channel Two News. I'm calling with information about Duke and Cliff Weston. We've located a relative. Their mother's parents."

Janet breathed an inward prayer of thanks. "How did you find them?"

"Internet search and public records. They didn't know the boys were in Charming. They live in Colorado. Would you like the names and telephone numbers?"

"What do you want in return?" Janet asked warily.

"Nothing. We felt something good and decent needed to be done for those kids. We're not using the information in any promotional way. The kids need family right now."

Janet reached for her notepad. "I'll take it." She jotted down the information. "Thank you."

She looked across the desk at Dr. Bethan. "Good news, I hope! The Weston kids have family."

"Definitely good news if they're willing to take the boys. Especially if they don't live in the area."

She handed over the notepaper. "Quite a way from here. Give them a call; see what you think. I want them contacted and your opinion before we decide whether Duke tells his brother about their father."

Dr. Gallagher hung up the phone with a muffled curse, took the stairs two at a time and rushed into his patient's room. Cat was sitting in a chair, sliding her legs into her black seude knee boots. She'd already donned the scrub suit the nursing aide had brought.

"A little bird told me you don't like our hospitality," he glared at her in distress.

"The little bird's singin' the wrong tune, Doc. It's not that I don't like yer hospitality. There's things on the outside that need my personal attention. Hard to do that from a hospital bed."

Dr. Gallagher gazed in wordless entreaty at Sleeved Biker. "Are you in favor of this?"

The rider shook his head. "Tig won't be either. One thing I've learned about Lady Cat, there's no arguin' with her when she sets her mind to doin' somethin'."

"What's going on, Cat? Surely you can tell _me. _Does it have to do with the Sons?" He slid a hand over his face. "What am I saying? Of _course _it has to do with the club!"

She nodded. "I need to know what kind of follow – up care I'm gonna be needin'."

"You wouldn't have to worry about it if you'd stay put!" he countered.

"That's _not_ happenin'. I also need to know how long it'll be before I can resume certain 'erotic activities' with Tig," she replied, stuffing her few personal items in the plastic bag Tig had been given the night of the wreck.

"I'll wait outside," Sleeved Biker muttered, his ears as bright red as a ripe tomato.

"Cat, think this over a bit! I just removed the tube from your side! Your condition has just been upgraded from critical! You really should stay another day!"

She glared at the physician. "Doc, I know you're thinkin' of my welfare, and appreciate it. If I _don't _get outta here, I'm gonna drive all y'all nerts with worryin' and extra traffic! Kip's been murdered; Abel, Jax's son, has been kidnapped; the guys were in a shootout televised on live tee vee; and -" she bit down on her next words before she let the proverbial cat out of the bag.

"-you want to see for yourself that your boyfriend is in one piece, among other things. I think I understand," he replied softly.

Another white coated doctor strode into the room. "Well I don't! What's the big idea of having me paged because you're checking yourself out of the hospital?"

Dr. Gallagher gazed at his co-worker. "Cat, this is the eye surgeon, Dr. Smythe. Dr. Smythe, your patient, Cat Marshall."

"Hey, Dr. Smythe. Thanks for takin' care of my eye. I just need to know what kind of follow – up care it needs."

Dr. Smythe glared at his patient, not pleased that she was preparing to leave the hospital without his approval. "I don't think that's necessary; there's no need for you to leave."

"With all due respect to y'all, there _is _a need for me to leave. I'm still sore in places I didn't even know existed, but all y'all have taken me off the critical list. No reason for me to stay here on the insurance company's dime," Cat replied reasonably.

"And just where do you think you're going, Miss?"

"Outta here and home," she stated, gazing earnestly at the surgeon. "There's matters that need my attention. I can't handle them from a bed!"

"I've not had an opportunity to follow up on your surgery! The bandage over your eye can't be removed for another three days! It definitely shouldn't be exposed to use during that time!"

"That doesn't keep me from bein' able to get around, read stuff with my other eye and watch teevee! Maybe I can't ride with one eye, but I don't need two eyes to settle this business!" She challenged the surgeon.

"I wouldn't suggest driving a car, or riding a motorcycle, or playing any sports at the moment!" he retorted hotly.

"Since I don't intend to do any of the three, it shouldn't be a problem." she countered. "All I need to know from _you_ is how to care for it."

The eye surgeon turned to Dr. Gallagher for support. "You're allowing this?"

Gallagher nodded. "She's stable, she's been mobile the last 24 hours, her lung has re-inflated. She knows what she can handle and what's too much for her. If she doesn't want to incur the additional expense of a hospital stay, I'm sure the insurance company won't balk."

The eye surgeon rolled his eyes and turned his intense stare back to Cat. "I'll write out the care instructions. Mainly, try not to get it wet." He held up a hand to forestall her question. "Yes, Dr. Gallagher told me about the tears, that's good news. I'm talking about swimming and showering. That kind of wet we want to stay away from until the bandage can be removed."

Cat nodded her assent.

"I removed a sliver of glass from beneath the lower eyelid. That caused some significant scratching of the cornea. There could be residual side effects. We'll know more once the bandage is removed and we can do more tests."

"I understand, Doc. Thank you," Cat replied.

Dr Symthe nodded curtly and left the room without further comment to her or Dr. Gallagher.

"Cordial person," she noted wryly.

"He's good at what he does. Just not real good with the bedside manner," Dr. Gallagher laughed. "As for your inquiry about 'other' activities, whenever you and Tig are up to it."

Cat grinned and gave him a 'thumbs up'. "So how long until I sign out?"

"Not much longer. Dr. Smythe is going to note that you're leaving against his advice. He's not all that happy with the idea of you checking out without his approval."

"Tough," Cat growled.

"Frankly, you'd have been moved to a regular room today, now that you're off critical. Just watch for any signs of swelling, fever, nausea - all those warning signs that can come up - you're smart enough to know what to watch for and what to do."

"What about the stitches?"

"I used self absorbing for your side, so there's no need to have them removed. I'm not sure if he used traditional stitches, self absorbing, or something else for the eye. You've treated your man's injuries often enough to know how to keep your own wounds clean and free of infection. If you have any problems or concerns, I'll send your record over to your regular doctor, or you can call me."

"I appreciate all you've done for me, and also for Chibs Telford when he was a patient."

"I just fixed the wounds; you're the most important portion of the healing process. Good luck, Cat. Somehow, I have a feeling you're going to need it."

"Y'know, there is one more thing you could do for me," Cat replied hurriedly, thinking of Alex's reaction when he learned she'd left the hospital.

"What's that? A note?"

She grinned. "Yeah. To inform Tig that I left with your approval. He tends to get a little . . .intense about some things."

Dr. Gallagher smiled widely and withdrew his prescription pad. He printed some words then signed it with a flourish, then handed the note to her. "Think that'll help?"

She read it over, grinned, and gave the physician a thumbs up. "It should. Especially the 'erotic activities' prescription. Thanks again, Doc."

Dr. Gallagher left her to finish dressing. While waiting for Sleeved Biker to return, she got the two vases ready to travel, pouring out the water and wrapping them in a towel so they wouldn't be jostled in the bag. She also packed the travel size toiletries, tissues, and the guaze pads and tape in her plastic bag. 'Hell, they'll just throw it out if I don't take it along.'

Sleeved Biker returned to her room to find Cat ready to leave. She paced while waiting for the eye surgeon's written instructions and the release papers to be provided to her.

"So how you plannin' on gettin' home? Did you call for a rental?"

"Shit! I didn't!" She glanced at the bedside clock. "It's too late to arrange for one now!"

The charter grinned knowingly. "You just wanted an excuse to get on a bike again! A'right. I'm not against takin' a lady on the back of my scoot."

Cat grinned back in appreciation. "Thanks, but I'm not goin' home. I need to go to the clubhouse - talk to Piney. I'm gonna need his help."

"With Tig?"

"With getting' the guys to the house. This has been a rough day for 'em. The news about Gemma is gonna hit 'em just as hard as the murder and the kidnapping. I promised Gemma I'd look after 'em. That means gettin' 'em in one place, feedin' 'em, and if necessary, get 'em drunk."

"That's a tall order, Lady Cat. You sure you're up to it?"

"Not really, but I'll manage. Mary's at the clubhouse, she might be willin' to help. At least she can give me a ride home from there."

"Why not have Piney and Mary meet you at the house?"

She favored Sleeved Biker with a gentler version of 'The Look'. "Yeah, like Tig won't throw a fit with me havin' one of the guys in the house without him around, even with Mary's presence!"

He laughingly slapped the top of his head. "What was I thinkin'?"

One of the nurse's aides walked in carrying a clipboard and a pen, along with a bag of prescriptions. "Here's your release papers, Miss Marshall. Dr. Smythe wrote out instructions for you. He also made an appointment for you at the eye center. Dr. Gallagher included his own instructions. These are your medicines."

Cat read through the papers before signing them, acknowledging that she had Dr. Gallagher's approval but was signing out against Dr. Smythe's advice.

An orderly entered the room with the wheelchair to take her to the front entrance. Cat settled into the chair, put the bag in her lap, and allowed the orderly to push her out of the room.

Sleeved Biker followed her to the elevator and rode down with her, then went ahead to the parking lot. "I'll bring the ride to the front door. You wait here for me," he admonished her.

Duke Weston kept his gaze fixed on the door where he'd finally be reunited with his brother. He didn't speak, though Mark tried to draw him out. Not even the news that his mother's parents – their grandparents - had been located could thaw the ball of ice that had formed around his heart.

Mark opened the door to the room, holding it open for Duke. He stepped across the threshold and stopped, looking at his brother in surprise.

Cliff was sitting at a table, wearing a straightjacket. His arms were crossed over his chest and the long arms of the coat were locked at his back. "What are you looking at, wuss?" Cliff growled. 'Bet you've been treated like a prince as usual!'

"Shut up, Cliff! You don't know the half of it!"

"Yeah? Who got to go out with Dad while I was stuck here? I only got a few minutes with him! You had the entire afternoon!"

Duke walked to the chair across the table from his older brother and sat down, placing his hands flat on the table in front of him. "Whose fault is that? I'm not the one who went Rambo on that blond freak, or tried to bite and kick the cops!"

Cliff jumped up as he were going to attack his younger brother, regardless of the restraints. In the past, the mere threat of retaliation was enough to kowtow his younger brother.

Duke simply glared at Cliff. "Not anymore, big brother. You don't have that power over me now."

'When'd you grow a set, little brother?' Cliff glared defiantly at his sibling. "What are you talking about?"

"Our Daddy's dead," Duke announced flatly.

Cliff's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "You're lying!"

"I wish. It's true. I was there. We went to the tattoo parlor. Daddy was getting ink. We went to the bathroom, I got done before him and went back out, he didn't. The officer escorting us found him sitting on the crapper, full of bullets."

Cliff stared intently at his younger brother, searching for signs of a lie. Duke met his gaze, even tough he'd left a vital part of the story out. He knew they were being watched – possibly even recorded – by whoever was on the other side of the mirror.

Cliff felt things change inside him as the news of his father's death sank in. He didn't feel competent and adult any longer. He changed into the child he actually was instead of the capable little man he thought his father wanted him to be. His face crumpled as his eyes welled up with tears.

Duke leaned forward, his cold gaze as intense as his father's. "You will _not _cry, damn you! You can't let these assholes see you cry. That's a weakness they'll use to their advantage! Grandpa and Grandma will come for us. We'll bury our father, and then we'll leave this place behind us!"

"H-how can y-you be so s-sure?" Cliff gulped, trying hard to hold back his tears.

"I know. Trust me, big brother. I know how to make things happen. Daddy was right. Intimidation is a tool to be used."

Jesse watched the two brothers from his side of the mirror. Out of courtesy, he'd turned the speaker off to enable the boys to talk in private. It surprised him that the younger one didn't embrace his sibling so they could cry on each other's shoulders.

'Guess I should consider it a good sign that the older one didn't try to lash out at his brother.' He'd found out too late that Cliff had been put in a straitjacket and hadn't been able to remove it before Duke arrived. He intended to have it removed as soon as possible. 'It's barbaric to put a child in such a thing!' the doctor thought angrily. "If I'd known about it, I wouldn't have allowed it.'

He picked up the phone and dialed the director's extension. "I recommend that we release both children to the grandparents' custody. Getting them out of this town in a new environment is the best thing for them. Their family will help them heal."

"You're sure of this?"

"I'd stake my license on it," Jesse replied.

"I'll have the papers drawn up and get them signed by the judge in the morning. I called the boys' grandparents, they haven't seen them since their father took them to California. They're be here tomorrow to get them."

"That's excellent news. I'll share that with them," Jesse replied. He'd been watching the boys while he spoke with the director. Neither had moved from his chair. 'I think the sooner they hear this, the better." He opened the door to the hallway and knocked on the interview room door.

"Enter!" Duke called.

Jesse opened the door and stepped inside. "Hi, Cliff," he greeted the older boy cordially before turning his friendly gaze on Duke. "You must be Duke Weston. I'm Dr. Jesse Bethan."

"Good for you," Duke growled. "You a shrink?"

Jesse's smile lost some of its' brightness. "Yes, I'm a psychiatrist. I've spent some time talking to your brother. He seems upset at the moment."

"He's upset about our father," Duke retorted, staring coldly at the psychiatrist. "Don't you think that's normal given the circumstances?"

"Very much so. I thought you boys might like to know your grandparents will be here tomorrow to take you home."

Duke glared. "Don't bullshit us, mister. You and I both know they're not takin' us to _our _home. Maybe to their home, but we're never gonna live at our home again!"

"No, you're not going to live there, but you'll be able to return to pack your belongings. Your grandparents will be taking you back to their home in Colorado."

"It beats living in the foster care system, Duke," Cliff offered. "At least we'll be together."

"Do you really want to stay together? Seems like you've always considered me a burden." Duke turned his aged cold glare on his older brother.

It appeared to Jesse that the brothers had reversed roles, with Cliff being the eager – to – please younger brother. Duke had assumed the role of the older brother that didn't want his little brother tagging along. 'It's like knowing his father was killed has aged Duke.'

"Of course it matters to me, Dukie!"

Duke's eyes narrowed until they were mere slits. His voice dripped icicles. "Don't _ever _refer to me as 'Dukie' again. My name is Duke. That damn 'ey' shit is too girly!"

"All right, Duke!" Cliff replied meekly. "All right! I'm sorry! Please don't be mad at me!"

'These boys definitely need out of here. The system's already changed the younger one, and not for the better! I'd best have a conference with the grandparents tomorrow.' Jesse made a note on his PDA as the boys continued to talk.

"Cliff, come here a moment," Jesse put the PDA away and turned the boy around so that he faced his brother. "I'm going to remove this jacket so you'll be more comfortable." He undid the bindings and soon freed the child from his confinement. "Better?"

Cliff looked up at him in gratitude. "Yes, thank you!" He swung his arms in estactic enjoyment of his new – found freedom of movement.

"You two have a lot to talk about. Why don't we go down the hall, get some soda. You boys hungry?"

'Yeah, you like that idea, shrink!' Duke looked out the side of his eye at Dr. Bethan. "You're not gonna pscyhoanalye me!"

Jesse shook his head. "No, I'm not. You've both had some bad news, it's been a long day, and the lounge is a lot more comfortable than this room. You can stretch out, have a soda, I can order something to eat, you can talk to each other if you want."

Cliff glanced beseechingly at his brother. "C'mon Duke! Please! I'd rather be anywhere but this small room!"

Despite his hurt and anger, Duke felt a small bit of warmth for his older brother enter his frozen heart. _'You're brothers, Duke. You can't shut Cliff out. Don't turn your back on him. I'm counting on you to take care of each other.'_

Their father's voice was as loud and real to Duke as if he were in the room with them. He knew his father's body was covered in a plastic bag in the county morgue, miles away from them, but the voice was his. Real. Warm. Alive inside his mind and heart.

'_OK, Daddy. I will,' _ He nodded at his older brother and smiled. The first genuine, warm smile he'd given anyone since the boys had been removed from their home. "You're right, Cliff. Let's get out of here."

Cat settled behind Sleeved Biker on the Harley, wondering briefly how she was going to hold onto her bag and the bike at the same time. Then it occurred to her to stuff the scrub shirt into the waistband of the pants, and then stuff the bag inside the shirt.

'Necessity has been the inspiration behind many aninvention!' She tapped the rider on the shoulder to indicate she was ready and held on to the back bar for the short ride to Teller – Morrow.

The guards at the gate recoginized Sleeved Biker, but not the passenger and weren't willing to let him through. "She's Tig's old lady, for fuck's sake!" the Portland rider snarled. "D'ya really think I'd be bringin' some interloper? Assholes!"

Piney witnessed the commotion on the surveillance camera and ambled outside to intervene. He was surprised to see Cat perched on the back of Sleeved Biker's ride. "Let 'em through!" he roared. 'What the fuck is she doin' out of the hospital? Tig is gonna have a fit!'

Sleeved Biker sailed through the gate and stopped next to the clubhouse entrance to allow Cat to dismount. Piney hurried to meet her as the Portland member parked his ride with the other bikes.

"What are you doin' here, honey? Shouldn't you be in the hospital? Does Tig know you're here?"

"I need to talk to you and Mary, probably, and no, he doesn't," she replied with a wry grin. "The hospital put me out."

"Bullshit!"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't figure you'd buy it. Is Mary still here?"

"Yeah. Want me to get her?"

She nodded. "Are any of the guys here?"

"Happy. Want him out here, too?"

Though Happy was the only one of the Redwood men who made her nervous, she nodded assent, thankful that Piney realized that whatever she needed to say was for Redwood ears only. 'His and Mary's presence should keep me from bein' so scared of Happy.'

Piney helped her to the picnic table. "Wait here, honey. I'll be back."

Sleeved Biker walked up behind her. "I'll keep an eye on her, Piney."

The old man nodded and disappeared into the clubhouse. He returned a few moments later with Mary and Happy. Mary carried a cup of coffee and one of her scones, which she placed on the table in front of Cat.

At a nod from Piney, Sleeved Biker patted her on the shoulder and murmured, "Catch ya later, Lady Cat," before entering the clubhouse and closing the door behind him.

Mary settled on the bench next to her while Happy and Piney sat across from her. "What's really going on, honey? Why did you check yourself out of the hospital in your condition?" Piney inquired.

"They upgraded and would've moved me to a regular room. I've got news, and need all y'all's help gettin' it to the guys," Cat explained. "They can't get the news here, it's not good. Have y'all been watchin' any of the local channels today?"

They shook their heads. The clubhouse only had one television, it had been set up with movies for the kids to watch. The adults didn't want to know what was going on outside the Teller – Morrow gates.

'Shit! This is gonna be a shock to 'em. Ain't no way to break the news easily,' She took a fortifying sip of the coffee some of her own roasted beans, breathed deeply, and announced, "Half – Sack was killed at Jax's house. There's an Amber Alert out for Abel. Cameron Hayes killed Kip and took Abel."

Happy and Piney both closed their eyes in pain and anguish. Mary gasped as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"That's not all," she continued miserably. "But I can't tell all y'all until I talk to Clay and Jax."

"Are Tara and Gemma OK?" Mary asked tearfully.

"In a manner of speakin'," Cat replied. "Tara was talkin' to the police when the news broke; Gemma wasn't with her. Gemma's OK, and I'd like to tell ya more, but it's not fair or right to tell y'all before I talk to Jax and Clay. Stahl's involved. This isn't somethin' the charters and civilians inside need to know."

Happy was the first to overcome his pain over the news about the Prospect. "She's right. This is our business only. There's too many outsiders around for us to discuss the matter here."

"I figure the best thing to do is get the guys over to our house. We can use having a wake for Kip as a cover should anyone in law enforcement get suspicious." She looked at Mary and Piney, but could barely look at Happy. Her hands shook under his direct, piercing gaze.

Happy could tell his presence made her nervous and couldn't fathom the reason for it. "She fears me for some reason; maybe because she hardly ever sees me around. I can tell she has the soul of an outlaw, just by the way she thinks.'

Happy nodded in admiration and approval of her consideration for the club. "That's good thinking, Lady Cat. That'll throw the Feds off track. Nothin' wrong with us havin' a wake for Sack at a club member's house. No rule says it has to be at the President's house, either. "

Piney was slower to respond, only because the double whammy of Half – Sack's murder and Abel's kidnapping had shocked him. His eyes were full of unshed tears. "Cameron couldn't have skilled Sack or taken Abel. Could you be mistaken? Could it have been LOAN?" he asked hoarsely.

Cat shook her head. "No, Piney. I'm not mistaken. Wish I were. The only reason I know that Kip was the murder victim is because James Windover, the reporter that covered the rally, got there before the cops and recoginized him. He didn't refer to Half – Sack by name, but he _did _say a young man who was prospecting club membership was the victim."

Mary was quietly sobbing. Cat put a hand on the older woman's back, rubbing it in a soothing manner. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"We'd rather hear it from a friend than from the television," Happy assured her, wanting to let her know he approved of her and she didn't have any reason to fear him.

"What do you need us to do?" Piney asked, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"I need to borrow Mary and get to my house. If Lyla's here, best for her to come along. I can use all the help I can get to take care of the guys. Need to get 'em fed and probably get 'em drunk."

"I'll get Lyla," Mary offered, drying her tears on her sweater and rising from the table.

"What can the two of us do to help?" Happy inquired as Mary disappeared into the clubhouse.

Cat locked gazes with him a moment, swallowed her nervousness, and replied, "Convince the guys to come out to the house instead of holin' up here. Tig, Jax, and Clay will need to meet me in our back yard. Tig's gonna be unreasonable about me leavin' the hospital. If all y'all talk to him first, he might not act so rashly."

"Tig? Now I know you need to be back at the hospital!" Happy exclaimed jokingly.

"I know," Cat replied wryly, finding her fear of the intense Nomad beginning to diminish from their light banter. "It's a long shot, but I don't have any other ideas."

The two men looked at the determined expression that masked the fatigue and pain from her injuries and endeavor to get to them. They slowly nodded their agreement.

"Consider it handled, honey," Piney assured her. "Happy, why don't you go with the ladies, keep 'em safe. I'll bring the guys over when they get back."

"Is that really necessary? Zobelle got away; last news report I heard, he was booking a charter jet," she protested.

"I'd feel better if you had Happy with you. The Mayans might come looking for revenge over the highway ambush," Piney replied. "LOAN might still try somethin' as well. Best not to borrow more trouble."

Cat sighed wearily, giving in to the inevitable. The idea of being chaperoned by Happy made her nervous again. 'Buck it up, kid. The man seems to feel my plan has merit. He certainly doesn't seem to have a problem with me supportin' the club." She nodded acceptance. "OK, then. We have a plan. I appreciate the help, guys." She sipped some more coffee and nibbled a few bites of the scone.

Mary returned with a highly annoyed Lyla. "What the Hell's going on? What are _you _doing here?" Lyla snapped at the sight of Cat sitting at the table with the two Redwood men.

"If it wasn't for the fact that Opie is gonna need your questionable comfort soon, I wouldn't have bothered ya!" Cat snarled. "Mary can fill you in while we're on the road!"

"How _dare _you talk to me like that! I'm getting sick and tired of being treated like a second class citizen around here!"

"Then quit actin' like it, get your bony ass in the car, and shut the fuck up!" Cat replied angrily. "I'm not up to battlin' another porn star right now. The guys are gonna need us! There's too much shit hittin' the fan as it is without you addin' to it."

Cat stood up and limped to the Cadillac's back door. She settled in the back seat, closing the door after her and stretched out along it's length, resting her head against the padded door.

Lyla glared after Cat before turning an entreating gaze at Happy and Piney.

"Just do what Tig's old lady said!" Happy growled menacingly.

Lyla flounced off to the Cadillac, slid into the passenger seat, and slammed the front door. The force made the glass rattle in the door; both men and Mary flinched. 'Feckin' bitch!' Cat winced and glared at the blond head in front of her.

Mary nodded at the two men. "I'll fill her in. She'll settle down." Mary walked to the Cadillac, settling behind the steering wheel and starting the engine.

"She'd better," Happy muttered darkly. "We don't need her bullshit. I don't care if the pussy's good for Opie. No amount of pussy is worth that much aggravation!"

"Go with 'em. If anything happens to Cat between now and the time he gets home to her, Tig'll be a demon!" Piney growled.

"A'right." Happy raced to his bike and followed the gold Cadillac from the lot.

"Where are we going, Cat?" Mary asked once the car was past the gate and traveling down the street.

"Market. Need some cheese and macaroni and crackers and shit. Need to get beer and other alcohol, too. I've got chili mix in the freezer. Anyone got a cell phone I can use? Mine's dead."

Mary dug hers out of her purse and passed it back to her. "I'll fill in Lyla while you make your call."

"I wish _someone_ would tell me what's going on instead of telling me off!" Lyla pouted.

Cat raised her eyeball beseechingly towards the Heavens and dialed the number to the coffeehouse. She hoped Pete would be closing. If not, she'd try the house and hope Chuckie would answer.

Pete was finishing the closing tasks. The last customer had left a half – hour earlier. The dishes were done and he was counting the deposit. Pete was also thinking of how excited Chuckie had been over the shopping expedition.

'He really enjoyed pickin' out stuff for himself. He can really do a lot with those hands. Really helped a lot when we got back, updating the web site and the Facebook page!'

Pete grinned at the stack of printed web orders and packed boxes to be picked up the following day. 'Didn't even have to ask him to do it, he just printed 'em out and packed the orders all by himself!'

The ring of the office phone interrupted his thoughts. "_Charming Pawse_. This is Pete speaking. We're closed but I'll help you the best I can."

"It's me, Cat, darlin'. I'm comin' home. Can you tell Chuckie to let me in? I forgot to tell him it was okay to answer the house phone."

"You're well enough to come home?" he asked in surprise.

"Kinda sorta. I don't have time to go over the details. Just don't update the website and Facebook pages about my release."

"OK, Miss Cat. I heard about Half – Sack. It's on all the news now. I'm sorry."

"So am I, darlin'. That's why I'm out and comin' home."

"I'll tell Chuckie as soon we're off the phone," he assured her.

"I need you to do somethin' else for me, darlin'. Take four quarts of 'Bambi' chili mix out of the freezer, nuke 'em for four minutes each to defrost 'em, and put the contents in the big pot on top of the fridge. Put the heat on low. I won't be long. Mary Winston and Lyla are bringin' me. We're stoppin' at the store for booze and stuff."

"OK, Miss Cat. Don't overdo."

'Too late, darlin',' she winced. "I'll try not to. Take care of the kitties. Tell Chuckie I'll see y'all soon."

She turned off the cellphone and breathed a deep sigh.

Mary had just filled in Lyla on the kidnapping and Half – Sack's murder. Lyla was silently weeping over the loss. She turned a tear – stained face to the back seat. "I'm sorry for behaving like an ass, Cat. This whole lock down thing has been a big upset."

Cat nodded wearily. "I know, Lyla. This whole thing is like a snowball rollin' down the hill. It just keeps gettin' bigger and more out of control. The guys are gonna need our support."

"You can count on me, Cat," Lyla replied, drying her tears. She was already thinking of how she'd take Gemma's place as club matriarch. 'Tara won't be fit to handle the guys with Abel gone; Cat's too sick, and Mary's too old and fat. I'm the only one fit to handle the job!' Her mind whirled with anticipation of the power she would soon weld not just over Opie, but all the guys.

Jax, Chibs, and Opie rode full throttle along the highway, passing cars and moving from lane to lane as if traffic was standing still. All Jax could think about was his son in the hands of Cameron Hayes and getting his little boy safe.

The trio passed the other four Sons waiting under an overpass. The quartet of bikes roared to life and fell in behind the trio, racing for the boatyard.

They spotted Hayes' vehicle parked at the wharf parking lot with its windows down. The bikes screeched to a stop and the men dismounted, tossing their helmets haphazardly aside in their haste.

Jax leapt over the rails leading to the wharf, followed closely by Juice. The others ran down the ramp to the pier. They could see Abel bundled in Cameron's arms as the IRA gun runner hurried to his boat.

Jax poured on the speed. He'd never run so fast in his life, not even in high school. He called on every ounce of energy he had to close the gap between himself and his son.

Cameron knew the Sons were following him; he'd heard the Amber Alert go out over the scanner. 'Tha police dinna catch me, I can't let tha Sons! If'n I ken git on ta water, no one will catch me!' He leapt onto the boat and gently set Abel down on a coiled rope.

The baby began to cry as Cameron tried to start the boat. The engine cranked, but wouldn't turn over. 'Day-um! C'mon! Tern o'er!' he pleaded silently, ignoring the infant's cries and tensing for a gunshot to the back. He could hear the pounding of feet on the wharf as the Sons drew nearer.

Cameron cranked the engine again. It coughed, sputtered, then caught and roared! 'Thank Gawd!' He untied the ropes that held the boat to the dock and pushed off, opening the throttle as wide as it would go, putting as much distance as he could between the pier and his boat.

He didn't have to look back to know he'd escaped. A loud, anguished shout told him that Jax was too far away to do anything. 'E'en if Tig or any of tha other bhoys thin' of hawtwirin' a boot, they'll nevva catch me afore I reach innernational waters.' He grinned and looked down at the whimpering infant. "We're free, my bhoy! We're free!"

Behind him, Jax crumpled to the pier, his hands clutching Clay's arm as he watched the boat gain speed and distance, carrying his small son away from him.

His brothers gathered around him, all of them feeling just as helpless. Tig knew there was no way he could hotwire a boat so they could follow Hayes in time to rescue Abel.

'I doubt the Coast Guard can do anything to help, either. By the time they'd get the intel, Cameron could ditch the boat, or reach the point where the Guard would have no jurisdiction. They won't stop every boat to check for the kid and that rat bastard will slow down enough not to give himself away!'

'I'll take care of what Miss Cat asked, then come back to finish the closing procedures,' Pete locked the deposit in the safe and turned off the lights before going out the back door and locking it behind him.

He unlocked the gate and crossed the backyard to the house, unlocked the back door and called out, "Hey, Chuckie, it's Pete!" and slipped inside before Ebony could pull an escape.

"Sorry, big fella!" Pete said to the cat, who twitched his tail and turned his back on the young employee, his ears flattened against his head.

Chuckie walked out of the library, where he'd been admiring the action figures. "All done for the day?"

"No. Miss Cat's on her way home, she checked herself out of the hospital early. Did you watch the news?"

Chuckie shook his head. "I tend to avoid it whenever possible. It's usually bad, anyway."

"A lot of stuff's been going on. The long and the short of it is that the Sons lost a man today. Not Mr. Tig," Pete added hastily, seeing Chuckie's eyes grow wide with shock and concern. "It was the Prospect."

"I never met him," Chuckie replied. "Is that why she checked herself out? Tig'll be pissed about it."

Pete smiled wryly. "That's probably the reason, but I don't think it's the only one. She also knows how Mr. Tig will react. She said Mary Winston and one of the other club ladies are bringing her home. She asked me to start some chili cooking. I guess she's gonna host a wake for the guys."

Chuckie frowned. "Why wouldn't they go to the Morrows? He's the president."

Pete shook his head. "I don't know. Miss Cat didn't tell me; I didn't ask. She tends to keep the club separate from the business, despite the Sons having a stake in it."

"I hope so," Chuckie replied, his tone of voice reflecting his own doubts. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Can you turn on the front porch light and unlock the door for Miss Cat? I don't think she has her house key."

"I accept that."

Pete disappeared into the garage to retreive the chili from the freezer while Chuckie took care of the door and lighting. When Pete returned with the quarts of chili, Chuckie took care of defrosting the mix while Pete removed the large pot from the top of the refrigerator, rinsed it out, and dumped the defrosted chili fixings into the pot.

"Bambi chili?" Chuckie read the writing on the quart containers. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Deer meat. Her cousins hunt deer in Southern Indiana and ship the meat to her in dry ice. It makes really good chili and spaghetti sauce."

"You've had it before?"

Pete grinned. "Sure. Trust me. It doesn't taste like chicken. Tastes like lean meat."

"I accept that; I think."

Pete disappeared into the garage again to the freezer, this time to remove several of the pies left over from LuAnn's funeral. 'Might as well get some dessert for them, too.' The pies were already baked, so all they needed to do was thaw.

A Harley engine roared in the driveway and car doors slammed, signaling that Cat and the other women had arrived with an escort. Chuckie stood beside Pete as the women, followed by Happy, entered the house, burdened with a number of plastic bags, though Cat was only allowed to carry her plastic bag from the hospital.

Pete and Chuckie took one look at their employer and knew they shared the same concern for her.

'She shouldn't be here,' they both thought. 'If she's not careful, she'll relaspe right in front of us.'

Pete leapt forward to guide his employer to the couch and took the plastic bag of her belongings from her. "Chuckie, can you take care of this stuff?"

"I accept that," he replied, slipping both arms through the bag's handles.

"There's a couple of vases inside, wrapped in towels. Could someone put water in 'em?" she requested.

"I can show the ladies where to find everything Miss Cat," Pete offered. "Why don't you go lay down in your bedroom until the guys get here?"

Chuckie put the bag on the table so Mary could remove the vases. Once she'd retrieved them, he slid one arm through the handles again and moved next to Cat, offering an arm out to her.

"I'll go change, but I'm not stayin' in the bedroom. I'll need to talk to Clay, Jax, and Tig in the back yard. Pete, can you put three of those beers on ice in a bucket and put them on the table out there?"

"I'll take care of it, Miss Cat," he assured her.

"Happy, do you mind checkin' the place for any Fed induced infestations? I wouldn't put it past Stahl to have planted a few critters in strategic places."

"I'm on it, Lady Cat," Happy replied, withdrawing a pocket scanner and setting to work.

Chuckie was still waiting for her with his arm stretched out. "I'll help you to the bedroom, Miss Cat. Looks like you could use a friend to lean on."

She looked up at him with a tired smile. "You sure, darlin'?" She looked at his bandaged hands, clearly indicating she didn't want to put any undue stress on his own injuries.

He nodded. She placed her good hand on his arm and stood up. He didn't remark about the amount of pressure she placed on him to get up from the couch. 'She's really hurting! It must be really important to put herself through all this!'

They slowly walked down the hall towards the master bedroom. Chuckie could tell she was in pain with every step. "You shouldn't do this to yourself, Miss Cat," he protested softly.

She squeezed his arm. "Your protest is duly noted, darlin'. Thanks for carin'. I'll be OK. Happy's gonna check around, make sure no one's planted any bugs while Tig and I have been gone. The Feds have a wild hair up their ass about the Sons. I'll be out shortly."

"Don't rush, Miss Cat. Pete, Lyla, and Ms. Winston will take care of things."

"I know, Chuckie." She started to enter the bedroom, Chuckie's hesitant finger at her elbow stopped her. She looked over at him, her eyebrow raised in inquiry.

"Thank you for the clothes, Miss Cat. Nobody's treated me that well in a long time."

"You're welcome, Chuckie. Sorry they aren't store new."

"The stuff's new to me, and that's what counts," he replied softly. "I appreciate it. Can I join you outside in a bit? I'd like to speak with you about something."

She nodded in response. "I'd like the company. I'll see ya in a bit." She limped on into the bedroom, turned on the light, and closed the door behind her. 'My hair hurts!' She grinned wryly. 'Everything hurts, and there's gonna be Hell to pay when Alex gets here!'

She limped into the bathroom and unpacked her bag, looking longingly at the bottle of pain pills, before placing it on the sink. She unpacked the other items she'd taken from the hospital and put them away. 'I can dope up later,' she promised herself, dry swallowing some coated over – the – counter pain relievers.

She removed the scrubs and washed the road dust off with a wet cloth. 'Screw a titsling. Too much bother!' She limped to the closet and selected a black flannel shirt that would fit easily over her bandages and cast while hiding the fact that the 'girls' were unharnessed.

She slid her legs into underwear and boot cut black denims, exchanging her knee length boots for sneakers. The effort of dressing nearly wore her out. She glanced in the mirror at her reflection, seeing all the cuts and bruises on her face. 'At least I look more presentable than I did in those scrubs!'

She stopped in the office to grab her cassette player and a tape to listen to, then continued on into the living room.

Mary and Lyla had unpacked the groceries and booze "The beer's in the fridge, Cat," Mary advised as she poured macaroni into a boiling pot of water. The heating chili was beginning to give off a delicious aroma. Bottles of whiskey, vodka, and other potent alcohol rested on the counter along with plastic cups. The pies Pete had set out were in the stove on a low heat, thawing.

"Thanks, you two. Everything looks good. I meant to help you set up."

Mary and Lyla had put out the plastic bowls, spoons, and cups, along with bowls of cheese, crackers, and other toppings for the chili on the table. The vase of bluebells sat in the center of the dining room table.

"I put the vase with the red rosebud on the end table next to the recliner, Cat. Don't worry about setting things up. You've done the important part by making the house available," Mary added.

"Thanks, Mary." She picked up the portable phone and dialed Jax's house number. The phone rang several times until Tara finally answered.

"Jax?"

"No, darlin'. It's Cat. You OK?"

"I'm shook up. Hale was here. They've taken Sack's body to the morgue. I'm packing some clothes for us; the house is being closed for investigation. We'll be staying at my dad's house."

"Are you up to driving? I'm at home, the guys are comin' over. Piney's herdin' 'em here. You need to be here when they get here."

Cat's tone of voice told her that something was definitely wrong. "Is it about Gemma?"

"She's OK. Just get here as soon as you can, darlin'."

"I'm on my way." Tara hung up the phone, grabbed her purse and the overnight bag she'd packed and ran to her car. 'It must be serious for her to leave the hospital! I hope Gemma's all right!'

Already upset over Abel's kidnapping, the club was devastated to learn from Chibs and Opie that they'd lost a man. Jax was still crouched on the wharf, moaning over the loss of his son while the pair reported what they'd found at Jax's house.

"Tara was bound to a rocker in the nursery. She's OK, but pretty shook up," Opie added.

Juice was beyond upset; he was next closest in age to Half – Sack. 'I can't count the number of times we got together just to hang out, or watch porn, or play pool. Sack was teaching me the fine art of macrame! He can't be dead!'

Chibs was more than devastated by the loss, now that he had time to process it. He had sponsored Kip to prospect the club and had mentored him. 'The bhoy did everthin' that was asked o' 'im! 'E was so close ta earnin' 'is patch! Damn Cameron Hayes ta 'Ell!'

"What about Gemma? Was she with them? Is she a'right?" Clay barked. 'Sack was supposed to be keepin' watch over the two of them. They're always together.'

"Ah dinna see 'er," Chibs admitted. "Mebbe tha wimmin split up, Gemma's prolly back at tha club'ouse."

Clay glanced at Tig. "Find out," he muttered darkly. His grandson was on a boat headed God knew where and his step-son was an emotional mess. 'All I need is for something bad to have happened to Gemma to lose it myself!'

Tig dug the prepaid out of his pocket and called Piney's cellphone. "You already know about Abel and Sack? Then you know Clay's upset! . . . All I'm askin' ya, old man, is whether Gemma is there or not! . .What the fuck do you mean, get over to my house?...Cat did what!. . .We're on our way." He snapped the prepaid closed. "Fuck!"

"Now what?" Clay barked. "Is Gemma at the clubhouse? What was that about Cat?"

"I dunno! The old man says Gemma's OK, but all he'd tell me is for us to get to my house ASAP; Cat checked herself outta the fucking hospital!" Tig's countenance was dark with anger and frustration. A sense of dread that felt as cold and heavy as a block of ice settled in his stomach.

'Oh, for fuck's sake! This is no time for the women to act out!' Clay wanted to kick something to alleviate his frustration, but there was nothing handy. He looked down at Jax, his anger softening.

"C'mon, son," Clay murmured. "There's nothin' more we can do here for Abel. The sooner we call Belfast, the sooner they can help us find Cameron."

Jax moaned and remained crouched on the pier. Clay and Opie hauled the VP to his feet, then Clay grasped his step – son by both arms. "I need your help, son. Somethin's wrong. Piney said we have to get to Tig and Cat's place. He says she's OK, but I have a feelin' somethings happened to Gemma! Do you remember seein' her at your house?"

Jax stared blankly at his step – father before Clay's words penetrated the miasma in his mind. 'Mom? Something's wrong with Mom? No, not Mom, too!' He searched his memory but couldn't recall seeing Gemma at his house. 'Mom wouldn't have allowed Hayes to take Abel if she'd been there. Where was she?' He straightened his shoulders and nodded. "Let's go."

The men returned to the parking lot, gathered their helmets, and mounted their bikes. Tig started his bike, angrily revving the engine. He wanted to get on the road immediately. The wait for his brothers was killing him.

"We'd better go," Bobby mused, hearing Tig's engine mirror his anger with its' roar. "If nothing else, to protect Cat from Tig. He's pissed."

"Shit!" Clay hollered, kicking at a can in the parking lot. "What next?" They roared back to Charming, leaving the pier behind them.

Tig was so agitated that he could barely stay in formation. It took every ounce of his self control not to race ahead of the group. 'I swear to God, that woman is gonna drive me nerts! What the fuck is she thinkin', checkin' out when she's critical! Damn her!' His grip on the handlebars was like iron.

The slowly setting sun turned the water blood red, yellow, and orange while an old cigarette boat motored towards the horizon. Abel Teller, still lying on the coiled rope, had cried himself to sleep.

Cameron Hayes had his back to the sleeping baby as he mourned the loss of his own son and wondered how he'd manage to continue to elude the Sons. He knew Jimmy O would be no help to him, he was on his own until he could get back to Belfast.

Happy completed the sweep of the house. "No bugs, Lady Cat," he reported with satisfaction, helping himself to a beer. "You mind if I turn on the stereo? It's just a little too quiet."

"Stereo's in the library, Happy. There's music loaded in the CD player. Can you find your way OK?"

He nodded and set off for the library. A few seconds later, the speakers filled the room with vintage Mellencamp.

"When Tara gets here, have her join me in the back yard," Cat requested of the women. "I'm gonna go out back and wait for 'em." She took one of the plastic cups, poured some Jack Daniels in the bottom of it, and added some ice. "Chuckie, ya said y'all wanted to talk to me?"

"Right behind ya, Miss Cat."

She opened the back door and held it open for Chuckie. He placed one foot in front of the door and motioned for her to precede him.

After a moment's hestitation, she complied and walked into the back yard, placing her drink and the tape player on the table and settling in a chair. She turned on the tape player, setting the music to a low volume.

Chuckie sat down in the other chair, watching as Cat sipped the drink and then lit a cigarillo. The scent of strawberries and tobacco drifted his way and he sniffed the air appreciatively.

"What is that?"

She grinned and blew out a thin stream of smoke. "Strawberry flavored cigarillos. I only smoke when stressed, and I'm just a little stressed right now."

Chuckie nodded. "I accept that. Are you worried about Tig's reaction?"

"A little. He's bound to be upset with my leaving the hospital. I have good reason for bein' here. All y'all will learn why, once the guys get here."

"You don't want to have to repeat it several times," he noted. "I accept that."

"Tellin' it more than once is gonna be hard enough. I appreciate your understandin', darlin'." Cat sipped some more of the whiskey, which started to take the edge off her head and body aches.

The sounds of Phil Collins' '_In the Air Tonight' _drifted from the tape player. She'd first heard it on the 80's television show _'Miami Vice' _when Sonny Crockett and Rafael Tibbs had gone to their showdown with drug boss Calderon. Another thin stream of smoke drifted from her nostrils as she contemplated the upcoming showdown she might have to have with Alex.

"Miss Cat, maybe this isn't the right time or place, but I really need to talk to you," Chuckie stated, his voice softly breaking into her reverie.

"Now's as good a time as any, Chuckie. What's on yer mind, darlin'?" She leaned her head back, gazing up at the pastel colors the sunset painted in the overhead sky.

"I really do appreciate everything you've done for me. The place to crash, the clothes, the job. And I know you just want to make things easy for me, but -" he broke off, afraid he was going to hurt her feelings or upset her.

Cat turned her face towards him, so that her good eye was visible. "Chuckie, whatever is on yer mind, y'all can always speak freely to me. I promise not to get 'hissed off' at ya."

"I accept that," he grinned, then his expression became serious. "It's about my hands. The burns are new, but the lack of digits is something I've been dealing with for some time. Everytime I run into an obstacle, there's a sharp pang that shoots through me, and I gotta first overcome that. Then I work to master a skill that people with 10 fingers take for granted, and I have a feeling that says 'Cool. That's one more thing I can do.' That skill is added to the lengthening list of things I _can _do and that makes me stronger. The longer the list gets, the better I feel. When people go out of their way to make things easier for me, well, it makes me feel less competent."

She understood exactly what he meant. 'He's not sayin' that he's offended, just that he wants to try to do for himself. Like those 'well intentioned' people who used to move their chairs forward so I could pass, even though there was plenty of room to do so back in the days before my surgery.' Cat inhaled another draft of the cigarillo and nodded encouragingly.

"It's not that I don't appreciate your consideration for me, Miss Cat. I just want to try for myself, and if I fail, to work my own way around the obstacle," he added.

She grinned at him. "I accept that, Chuckie, and appreciate y'all callin' my attention to it. If I step outta line, you be sure to tell me, you got dat?"

"I accept that, Miss Cat." He grinned back and stood up. "I'm going back into the house, let you get mentally rested for when Tig gets here."

The music on the tape player had moved to an instrumental she'd recorded from CSI Miami, a cover from a Charles Bronson movie she loved called '_Once Upon a Time . . .in the West_.'

Her headache was gone, just as she'd hoped the whiskey would accomplish. 'Never underestimate the medicinal purposes of good booze, even if one can't have a lot.' Cat leaned her head against the back of the chair again and closed her eye. "Would ya do me a favor, Chuckie?"

"What's that?"

"Grab a bowl, and when they guys get here, make 'em turn over their keys to ya. No one's ridin' drunk on my watch! If any of 'em give y'all any grief, tell 'em y'all are actin' on my say so!"

Chuckie grinned widely. "I accept that, with pleasure!"

She drew another draft from the cigarillo, allowing the rich smoke and strawberry scent to soothe her nerves. A new song drifted over the back yard, one of Mellencamp's earliest songs that never made the Top 40, called _'Pray for Me.' _

Piney parked his Harley trike on the street outside Cat and Tig's driveway and sighed heavily. 'I hope she's well enough to handle the man. Tig is sorely pissed!'

He glanced up at the house, seeing his former wife and Opie's girl watching him from the front window. He lifted a hand in greeting, indicating he was going to wait for the men. 'Mebbe I can calm Tigger before he confronts her.'

He waited patiently, his mind still working to accept that one of their own had died. 'It's not been so long ago that we lost Donna through sheer stupidity; why is it always the young ones to go first?'

The roar of Harley engines alerted him to the guys' approach. He stood next to his trike as he watched Clay raise his hand, signaling Tig to assume the lead as the bikes turned onto his street.

Tig's bike roared ahead of the others and on into the driveway. He angrily gunned the engine as he parked in his usual spot. 'I should be happy about comin' home to her, but I'm pissed as Hell! Damn her! Why is she takin' such a fucking risk?'

The club found places to park on the street, turned off their bikes, and dismounted. "What's goin' on, old man?" Clay roared as he walked up to Piney. "Where's Gemma? Why are we here?"

"We're here to talk about Redwood business. Cat thought this would be the safest place." He sensed Tig's approach as he continued, "She showed up at the clubhouse on the back of the Portland charter's ride. That's how I learned about Sack and Abel. She said she needed to meet you, Jax, and Tig in the back yard as soon as you got here. Says there's Fed trouble. By having us here, she thought we'd have a good cover by holding a wake for the kid."

Tig glared at the burly founding member. 'If I didn't know better, I'd think Piney was enjoyin' a joke at my expense. Shit! It figures she'd be puttin' us first again! I dunno whether to kiss that woman or kill her! '

He turned away and strode towards the back yard, jamming his helmet on the Dyna's mirror as he passed. "C'mon!" his growl indicated he was _not _willing to tolerate any further delay.

Piney marched after the agitated rider. His paw latched onto Tig's shoulder, pulling him to a stop in mid - stride. "You go easy on her, man," Piney growled. "She has a good reason for bringin' us here and checkin' outta the hospital. Hear her out before you go ballistic. Ya hear me?"

Tig snorted, wrenched out of Piney's grasp, and stormed off to the back yard where music was playing. 'That's an appropriate choice, given the circumstances!' he thought grimly, listening to Lindsay Buckingham's _'Trouble'._

"I'll keep an eye on him, old man," Clay assured him, following in his agitated SAA's wake.

After showing Mary and Lyla where supplies were kept in the kitchen and feeding the cats, Pete returned to the coffeehouse to finish the deposit and merchandise count.

'I hope Mr. Tig doesn't get too mad at her for checkin' out early from the hospital. With the Amber Alert on Abel, and Half – Sack getting killed, the Sons have been through the wringer. I know she just wants to do somethin' to help 'em.'

Pete considered offering to take Chuckie to his house, but decided against it. 'Guess Chuckie is a friend of the club, like Miss Cat. If he wasn't supposed to be around, she'd have asked me to take him somewhere.'

He laid the completed merchandise report on the desk for the following morning. The deposit was counted and locked in the safe; the registers were ready for opening. He set the alarm and locked the front door after him, walking to his Honda parked just a few feet away.

The unmistakable roar of Harley engines caught his attention. He looked up in time to see Clay leading the Sons down Main Street. There were no more police on watch; the Mayans who'd remained behind had left when the news came out about Polly Zobelle's death in Galt. He watched the Sons ride past, but none of them acknowledged his wave.

'They look beat," He took one look at the anger etched in Tig's expression and winced. 'Hoo boy! Miss Cat's in for it for sure! I've _never _seen him look so angry! He wasn't that intense when they fought about Prospect!' Pete continued to watch the Sons until they turned the corner and roared out of sight.

Tara parked her car on the street near Cat's house, noting Mary's Caddy and one of the Sons' bikes already parked nearby. 'Looks like Happy's providing the escort. Good.'

She started to reach into the back seat for Abel, only to remember that Abel wasn't there and why. Tears fell from her eyes again at the thought of his kidnapping. 'Jax is going to blame me for all this mess. Can't say as I blame him. Abel was in my care, and now he's gone!'

She thought she'd cried out all her tears when David Hale had put an avuncular arm around her in the nursery and held her. 'If something's happened to Gemma, I don't know how I'll handle it.'

Tara walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. Though the guys usually just entered a member's house without knocking, Tara still believed in the common courtesies.

Lyla opened the door, acting like the lady of the manor, giving the doctor a guarded look. Tara was too tired to say anything snarky to the porn star. "Cat asked me over."

"I know. She's out in the back yard waiting for you," Lyla replied tightly. "You can go around the back to the gate."

"OK. Thanks." Tara turned and winced as Lyla slammed the door after her. 'You'd think this was _her _house instead of Cat's! Bitch!'

Tara could hear music coming from the back yard as she walked around to the gate. The tune was a wistful sounding instrumental, with synthesizers and guitar. The music matched Tara's mood. 'Sounds like Cat feels the same way.'

She opened the back gate to find Cat sitting in one of the iron lawn chairs, both legs stretched out in front of her, a lit cigarillo in her good hand. A bucket of iced – down beer rested on the table beside her. The cigarillo smelled like strawberry incense. There was also a plastic glass with a small amount of amber colored liquid in the bottom of it.

Tara gazed at her with a professional eye, taking in the pale skin with bruises and cuts standing out in colorful contrast. 'She's probably hurting a lot if she's drinking whiskey. She shouldn't be out of the hospital, even if her condition was upgraded. What the Hell could've possessed her to leave?'

"I know what you're thinkin', Tara. I'm out and stayin' out," Cat stated quietly. "I can't do what needs to be done sittin' on a bed channel surfin'!" She opened her good eye and pointed to the other chair. "Cop a squat, girl. You look as all in as I feel."

Tara dropped into the other chair. "That bad, eh?"

"We've both seen better days. The guys should be here any minute," she took a deep drag of the cigarillo, from a package she'd bought at the store. It didn't taste any different to her than the stale one she'd smoked at LuAnn's funeral.

"I can't wait for them, Cat! Is it about Gemma? Is she hurt?"

'I really didn't wanna have to say this twice! But she's already gone through so much, makin' her wait would be cruel.' Cat replied, "Gemma's safe. She's on the lam. Chief Unser's with her, trying to get her someplace safe."

Tara closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "What happened?"

"That, my dear, is all I can give you for now. Can you please wait for the guys? They should be here any minute."

The roar of multiple Harleys answered her. Tara nodded and grinned. "I think they're here."

Chibs and the rest of the club walked into the front door of the house Cat shared with Tig. He was still dazed and shocked over the loss of Half – Sack. He barely noticed Chuckie standing at the front door with a bowl in his arms. Chuckie held it out to Chibs. "Please place your bike keys in here. Miss Cat's orders!"

Chibs glared at the man, then shrugged and tossed his keys in the bowl. "If'n Lady Cat sez so, so be it!"

One by one, the Sons deposited their keys in the bowl and followed their noses to the piping hot chili. Ebony turned his back on Happy, who'd been feeding him bits of meat, to rub against the newcomers, welcoming them in his own way.

Ming, the regal Siamese, had decided he liked Piney best, and sat next to the founding member. The Siamese would occassionally rub his whiskers against Piney's leg, earning an ear rub when the burly rider thought no one was watching.

Chibs was the only hold out. He stumbled to the sofa and collasped into it, holding his head in his hands, finally giving in to his grief.

Misty had hidden under the sofa when Mary, Lyla, and Happy followed her mom into the house. The little cat had missed her parent but the presence of people who were strange to her sent her into seclusion.

Though she wanted to be as brave as Ebony and Ming, the one eyed feline cowered despite her Mom's persuasive voice. Misty envied her siblings fearlessness as they accepted the attention she craved from their long missing parent.

When she felt the sofa sag over her ears, the little cat crawled out and climbed up the back of the sofa to the top of it, hoping to finally get some love from her mom. She didn't find her mom, but did smell the familiar scent of her buddy, Chibs.

She sensed saddness radiating from her friend. Her natural instinct to comfort someone she loved overcame her fear of the strange people in her house. Misty leaped onto the sofa next to Chibs and poked his arm with her paw.

"'Eh? Whot's that?" Chibs looked over and locked gazes with the little one eyed feline. She poked his arm with her paw again, then nudged it with her head. "Ye wanna cuddle, wee gurl?" he asked softly, raising his arm to allow her access.

Misty climbed onto his lap and stretched her body along his chest, placing her front paws on his shoulder blades. She stretched her face up until her nose touched his chin. She licked it several times, trying to convey her unconditional love and comfort to him.

Chibs held the little cat in his arms, burying his face in her fur while her body rumbled with purrs. Tears poured from his eyes onto the furry form and she treaded on his chest, purring contentedly. Then she curled up on his lap, still purring and nudging his hand from time to time, to be rewarded with a petting or a scratching under the chin. For once, Chibs found something better than booze to assauge his grief.

The music on the tape player changed from the instrumental to a vocal selection. A tune from the 80's that seemed to Cat to sum up the situation quite perfectly. Lindsay Buckingham's voice proclaimed, '_I should run/on the double/. . .I think I'm in trouble. . .again."_

The back gate slammed against the fence and bounced back in front of Tig, who stopped it with the palm of his hand. He pushed the gate back against the fence again and it stayed put, as if it, too, feared his awesome presence. Tig stormed into the back yard, followed by Clay and Jax.

"You're definitely in one Hell of a lot of trouble, woman!" Tig roared. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing here? You should be in the hospital!" His blue eyes were ice cold with anger, belying the warmth that flooded though him at the sight of her sitting in his own back yard, safe but looking tired and pale.

'I forgot how hot she looks in all black!' His fingers went to the bridge of his nose to stifle his lusty thoughts. 'What the fuck am I doing? Can't think 'bout that shit right now. No matter how hot she looks, she still shouldn't be here!'

Tig crossed the lawn in a few short strides, grabbed her by both upper arms, and yanked her to her feet, frowning down at her. "I dunno what the fuck you think you're doin' here. Ya'd better have a damn good reason!" he growled, holding her close to him and resting his chin on her head.

She laid her cheek against his chest and could feel tremors in his body. 'He's not pissed off, he's scared - for me!' Her arms curled around his waist to comfort him. She closed her eye, breathing in his comforting masculine scent. "I certainly do," she replied softly. "Give me your prepaid, love."

He held her away from him, his fingers digging roughly into her upper arms. "Who the Hell do ya think you're callin'?" he growled in disbelief. 'How the fuck can she be so damn calm? Is she deliberately tryin' to push me over the edge? Doesn't she realize how scared I was for her?'

"Gemma," she replied, holding her good hand out with her palm up. She waited expectantly, her gaze resolute. She refused to let him or the others see that his grip hurt. "Well? Are y'all gonna hand it over, or do I have to dig it outta yer pocket?"

As much as the thought of her hand sliding into his pocket aroused him, Alex sighed with annoyance and relaxed his grip on her arms. He used one hand to dig the prepaid out of his pocket. He continued to glare as he laid it in her outstretched palm. "I don't get it, isn't Gemma inside?"

Cat shook her head, dialing Unser's number. "I'll let her explain it in a minute." She pointed to the bucket of beer. "Help yourselves."

She held the phone to her ear, gazing reassuringly at Clay. "Wayne? It's Cat. . . . Tig's got ahold of me, and Clay, Jax, and Tara are here. Thanks, darlin'." She held the phone in the palm of her hand and activated the loudspeaker.

"Cat? Wayne says you've got my family there?" Gemma's voice came through to them loud and clear. "I didn't expect that."

Clay's eyes closed against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. 'Thank God!'

"All present and accounted for. I put you on speakerphone." She held the phone out to Clay.

He took it from her, his scowl gone and his eyes softening at the sound of his lady's voice.

Alex fell into the lawn chair Cat had been sitting in, nearly weak from relief. '_That's_ why she left the hospital! She put all this together for us. A safe place to talk to Gemma and discuss what's happened.' He drew her onto his lap, settling her head against his shoulder, wrapping his arms securely around her. "Shit, baby! Why didn't you just come out and tell me?"

"You didn't give me a chance, love," she replied softly, relaxing in his embrace.

He could feel her shaking from fatigue. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of tobacco and strawberries. The same scent permeated her shirt. 'Fuck it! I can't stay angry with her! She's safe and she's with me. That's all that matters right now!'

He felt a little guilty over her smoking. He knew the stress had been caused by her worrying about how he'd react. One hand rested on her back, noting the absence of a titsling while the other stroked her hair. He gained as much comfort from the contact as it gave her.

He found it arousing that she wasn't wearing a bra and wished he could slide his hand up inside the front of her shirt. He sighed contentedly as he felt her relax against him. "Damn, baby! What am I gonna do with you?"

He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until he heard her soft laugh. "I'm sure y'all have several X – rated ideas!"

"Are _all_ of you in her room?" Gemma asked incredulously.

"No baby," Clay replied. "We're in Cat and Tig's back yard. She checked herself outta the hospital."

"I didn't ask her to that!" Gemma protested. "Cat, what in the Hell were you thinking?"

"Of the good of the many outweighing the needs of this one," Cat assured her, raising her head from Alex's shoulder. "I couldn't do what the guys needed tonight from a damn hospital bed. I went half AMA. Dr. Gallagher gave me a note for Tig as proof."

Gemma laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh. "I won't sic Tara on you, though I imagine Tig wasn't very happy with your decision." Her voice wavered as she added, "Are you guys a'right? Did you get Zobelle?"

'Shit! I didn't tell 'em that she doesn't know about Abel and Kip!' Cat gestured vigorously at Clay, shaking her head warningly. Clay nodded his understanding.

Alex placed his hand against Cat's head, guiding it back to his shoulder. "Relax, baby," he whispered encouragingly. "Clay won't say anything until he's sure it's OK for Gemma to know." His breath tickled the sensitive skin behind her ear. He buried his nose in her hair, enjoying the feel of it against his face. 'God, she feels so good. I wish it was just us together right now.'

Cat closed her eyes and heaved a large sigh of relief. She knew Alex was no longer angry at her. She could feel the relief pouring out of him in every word and caress. His embrace comforted her while the evidence of his arousal against her rear end amused her.

Jax held out a hand to Tara, who moved to stand beside him. They wrapped their arms around each other while Clay sat down in the lawn chair next to Alex, holding the phone in one hand and a beer in the other. "What happened, baby? Where are you?"

"I'm on the lam. It's all Stahl's doing," Gemma replied, quickly filling in her family on the events at the safe house in Galt and her call to Unser for help. "He got me out of town. We're heading North. We've stopped for the night, got a room, seperate beds."

Alex noticed the glass of whiskey on the table and immediately knew it was Cat's. 'She won't need any more of this. Waste not, want not,' he downed the liquid in one swallow, then buried his face in her hair and neck again.

"Gee, help yourself!" Cat snorted.

"You weren't drinkin' it, didn't wanna see it go to waste!" he whispered.

"At least you're safe," Clay replied, gripping the beer bottle like he'd like to be gripping Stahl's neck. "I'd like to strangle that Fed bitch!"

"Line forms in the rear, baby!" Gemma noted wryly. "Jax, are you a'right? Did you get Weston?"

"He's dead, Mom. I emptied the clip in him," Jax replied flatly.

"I can't say I'm sorry. I feel bad for his kids, but I'm not sorry he's dead."

"I know, Mom," Jax replied, his voice choking on the words at her mention of Weston's kids. 'I miss my boy! I need my mom and she can't be here and I can't tell her what's happened!'

Tara felt the tremors in her man's body and held him close to her. 'All I can do is give him whatever strength he'll let me give him right now.'

"Are you OK, baby? You don't sound so good."

Clay warningly shook his head at Jax. Tara looked up at his face, sensing his anguish. Jax nodded and reached deep inside himself, finding the courage to speak in a more animated manner. "I'm fine, Mom. We're just tired."

"They're probably hungry, too," Cat interjected. "There's chili on the stove and beer in the fridge waitin' on 'em."

"Bambi chili, I'll bet," Alex whispered in her ear.

"Hush up! What they don't know won't hurt us," she whispered back, pressing a kiss behind his ear for good measure.

"That's my girl," Gemma noted approvingly. "Tara, how's my grandson?"

"He's inside the house," she replied, forcing her voice to sound bright and unconcerned. "It's a little too cool for him to be outside."

"Clay, give my grandson a hug and kiss for me. I wish I were there."

"I wish you were too, baby. Is Unser around?"

"Sure, wanna talk to him?"

"Yeah. Stay safe. I love you, baby." Clay's voice was thick with emotion. The phone call had been difficult, but it had also helped Gemma's family accept what had happened.

"I love you too. Love you all. Thanks for doin' what you've done, kitten. Rest well."

"I will, Gemma."

Gemma laughed again. "Tigger, you take good care of Cat. Don't be mad at her for leavin' the hospital. If you're gonna be mad at anyone, be mad at me for makin' her think it was necessary."

"Gemma, I'm _not _mad! Not at you, and definitely not at my lady," Tig protested huskily, cutting off Cat's rebuttal before she could speak it by covering her lips with his hand. "OK, I'm not mad at her _now_. I was worried, but understand why she did it."

He buried his nose in Cat's neck, grazing it with his lips in a light caress, not caring that Clay and the other two would see the gesture. 'There's a Hell of a lot more I wanna do to her and can't with them around, damn it!' His teeth grazed the same place for a moment, and he enjoyed feeling her squirm against his erection.

Clay turned off the speakerphone to issue curt orders to Unser. "I appreciate you takin' care of my girl. Where are you two?"

"Northern California, almost to Oregon. Gemma wants to try for Canada. I don't think I can get her across the border."

"You know about Abel?"

"Yes," Unser was careful about his replies with Gemma so close to him. He knew if Gemma found out about the kidnapping, she'd bolt back as fast as she could.

"Are they running the Amber Alert that far North?"

"No. I checked. Did you get Zobelle?"

"We had to let him get away. Retrieving Abel was more important. We weren't successful in that, either."

Unser didn't know what he could say with Gemma in the room with him. He settled for a quietly spoken "I see."

"Take care of my lady, Wayne. I owe you one. I'll send the Portland charter up. They'll help protect you until we figure things out."

Unser gave Clay the name of the hotel they were staying. "I had to register under my own name. Hard not to when I'm wearing my uniform."

"You did a'right, Chief. I'll give the intel to Stone Coyote. It's his boys who'll be comin' up there."

"OK, Clay. Good night."

Clay turned off the phone and handed it to Tig. "She a'right?" He glanced over at Cat, whose eye was closed. Her face was pale and that worried him. 'Damn it! She doesn't have to keep provin' her loyalty to Tig or to us.'

"Yeah. She's tired is all. Don't worry. I won't tear into her. Not now or later," he replied, gazing in pride at his lady.

"Better not, or there'll be Hell to pay. You're holding the temporary club matriach in those arms of yours!" Clay growled good naturedly. 'Givin' her that honor is what I know Gemma wants. She asked her to take of 'her' boys, and Cat came through for us just like she always does.'

Cat stirred and murmured, "Yeah, a little respect is definitely warranted!"

"Let's get inside, tell the others about Gemma. It's gonna be hard for 'em to hear on top of Sack, but we can't keep 'em waiting," Clay added, heading off a lively debate he knew was about to start between the couple.

Cat started to get up from Alex's lap so he could stand up. "Stay put, woman!" he growled in her ear. "You've done enough for one night. Lemme take care of you."

Before she knew it, Alex stood up with her still in his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder. Her arms went around his neck. She felt as light as a feather to him. 'Damn! I could get used to this!"

She squirmed in his arms, trying to set her feet on the ground. "Leggo, damn it! I'm perfectly able to walk to my own back door!" She also didn't want the others to see the bulge in his britches.

"Stop squirmin' and shut up!" He growled just loud enough for her to hear. "Lemme enjoy this moment, for fuck's sake!"

"I was goin' to provide camouflauge for your perdicament," she whispered. "If you're gonna be ungrateful, I might just bite you," she replied, slightly annoyed at his chauvenistic attitude. She eyed the proximity of his neck with a wicked gleam in her good eye.

"I'll bite back. You're not the only vampire in the household, y'know!" He lowered his lips to her neck where it joined with her shoulder, nuzzling it with his tongue and teeth, grazing her skin with his mustache. "A little nibble is just what I could use right now! The predicament's already takin' care of itself."

Determined not to call attention to his erotic by - play, Cat hastily stifled the squeak his lips and mustache were teasing out of her. "Y'all are gonna hafta put me down to open the door, big boy!"

"Wanna bet?" He slid one hand under her knees, turned to one side, and grapsed the doorknob with his other hand while his arm supported her back.

Clay rushed over and moved Tig's hand away from the doorknob. "Allow me," he grinned, opening the door and holding it open. "I'll join ya in a minute," he added, motioning Jax and Tara to follow the pair inside.

Tara picked up the tape player, shutting it off as she walked into the house. Jax glanced at his step – father, then picked up the bucket of beer and followed Tara.

Clay returned to the lawn chair and sat down, holding his head in his hands for a moment. He took a deep breath and pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number for the SAMPOR president.

"Yeah?"

"It's Clay. We're OK. We're all at Cat and Tig's house."

Stone Coyote breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I was gettin' a little worried when ya didn't return. The Feds have been here; I wouldn't give 'em access without a warrant. Been expectin' them to come back with one any minnit."

"Shit!' Clay kicked at the chair leg. "Was a bitch named Stahl headin' 'em up?"

"We didn't exactly exchange names, but there was a Head Bitch in Charge. Real ballsy broad. Said she was lookin' for Gemma on a murder charge. She showed up a little while after Puddy Cat, Piney, and Happy left with the wimmin."

"That was Stahl, a'right. She's got a hard on for the club. Appreciate ya steppin' up to the plate."

"I knew things were bad when Sleeved Biker said Puddy Cat checked herself outta the hospital. He told us about the Prospect. Sleeved was with her when Puddy Cat learned 'bout it and the kidnappin' of your grandson. He couldn't give me any details. Said he and Puddy swore a rumrunner's oath on it. What the fuck is goin' on?"

Clay felt his admiration and respect for Tig's old lady increase. He explained what he'd learned from Gemma and what he needed the charter to do. "Can you and your guys leave right away?"

"No worries, Clay. Say goodbye to Puddy Cat for us and give her our love." Stone Coyote assured him.

"I'll do that. Thanks for watchin' over her. That was a big help to Tig, and to us."

"Our pleasure. Your lady'll be safe with us."

Tig carried Cat through the kitchen and on into the adjoining living room to the recliner. He ignored the cries of concern from his brothers at the sight of her bandaged and bruised form. Some of them hadn't seen her since the night of the rally and the wreck.

He sat down in the recliner, keeping her cradled in his secure embrace. "Someone wanna hand me a beer and a couple bowls of that chili? She's fine, just wore herself out for us again," he assured them gruffly.

"Cat, what do you want in yours?" Mary called out, dishing up two bowls of chili.

"Cheese and macaroni, please," Cat replied. "Some water, too, if it's not a problem."

"Tig?"

"The works, Mary, lots of it. And a beer."

"Comin' right up," Mary added the extras to both bowls and brought them over to the pair. Happy followed with the beverages. His intense gaze bored into Tig, an abject warning not to lash out at Cat unless he wanted to face the wrath of the club.

"Relax, would I be holdin' her like this if I was gonna rip into her?" Tig asked the Nomad, taking the bottle and glass from him and setting them on the table next to the black ribboned rose.

"Just checkin'," Happy turned back to the kitchen to join the others.

"You're developin' quite a fan club, baby," Alex murmured. "Damn fine thing when a man can't control his wife without a fuckin' vote!"

"You'd be outvoted anyway, love. _No_ man controls me!" Cat replied hotly, chafing against Alex's continued chauvenitic behavior. "I know ya were upset and worried, but enough is enough!"

Alex tightened his arms around her. "Ya think I don't know that? So shoot me for bein' worried about your welfare."

"Don't tempt me," she growled.

'Yeah, she's a'right. Still feisty as ever!' Alex grinned at her. "You gonna sic your fan club on me?"

"I can handle ya without any help from the boys," she admonished with a frown.

"Yeah, you can," he replied, nuzzling her neck again. "Just as well. I could get jealous pretty quick."

"Love, y'all got no reason to worry. None of 'em can hold a candle to ya," she assured him. The bowl in her hand shook a little.

Tig put his bowl on the table next to his beer. He could feel fatigue rolling from her in waves. He placed his hands under hers to hold the bowl steady.

"Don't even _think _of tryin' to feed me!" she growled warningly at him. "I'm not _that _feeble."

"Are you kiddin'?" he grinned evilly. "The thought never crossed my mind!"

"Bull!"

"Thought it was Bambi instead of bull. Whatever. I have no intention of wearin' it. You don't object to me holdin' it for ya."

"No objections at all, love," she replied. "Where the Hell is Clay? I thought he was right behind us." She watched as Tara gave the tape player to Chuckie. Jax settled into a kitchen chair, holding his head in his hands. 'He looks worn out; this can't be easy for him.'

"Prolly callin' your buddy Stone Coyote," Alex assured her.

Clay strode into the house. The SAMCRO men grew quiet, waiting expectantly for news of Gemma and fearing the worse. Chibs was still bent over Misty, his shoulders shaking with quiet remorse.

Cat disengaged herself from Alex's embrace, handing her bowl to him before crossing the few feet to the couch to sit next to her friend. "Chibs, darlin', Clay's got somethin' to tell y'all about Gemma," she spoke softly to him so the others couldn't hear while stroking his hair with her good hand. "It might help y'all feel a little better."

Chibs nodded, placing one hand over hers. "I kin 'ear 'im jest fine, Lady Cat," he replied softly. He kept his face buried in the cat's fur, finding solace in her purr. "I just canna look at any of ye right now. It ain't pursonal"

Misty raised a sleepy eye to her parent, purred and licked Cat's hand before settling back to sleep in Chibs' lap. Her parent smelled OK, but her buddy needed her solace at the moment.

"Good baby," Cat whispered. "You comfort Chibs." She looked up and nodded at Clay, encouraging him to proceed. The other men were still waiting, their attention focused on their leader.

"Gemma's safe. She's on the lam." He briefed them on what had happened at the safe house. "Unser got her out of town before Sthal had any idea she was gone. The Portland charter is on their way to them right now."

The SAMCRO men sighed with relief at the news. They had found various places to sit in the kitchen and living area while they waited for the back yard conclave to end. They'd been anxious, but that hadn't kept them from helping themselves to liquid refreshment.

With their immediate fear for Gemma's safety alleviated, the men turned to sating their hunger. Chili was ladled into bowls and choice extra ingredients were added. The stereo was loud enough for the music to be heard, but not so loud that muted conversations couldn't be held.

"Stahl's already lookin' for Gemma. She's been out to the clubhouse. SAMPOR turned her away," Clay added after taking a long pull from his beer. He sniffed appreciatively at the chili, added cheese, onions, and some jalapenos, then crumbled some crackers into the mix. He spooned a large bite into his mouth and sighed contentedly.

Piney stood protectively next to Mary, who laid her head against his shoulder in relief to learn that Gemma was safe. Both had kept a worried eye on Cat when Tig had first brought her into the house. They relaxed when they saw that neither seemed upset or pissed at the other.

'She looked pretty content when Tig carried her in,' Piney observed. 'Guess he won't be tearin' into me or Happy for bringin' her here, either.'

His gaze moved over to Lyla and Opie, concern crossed his face as he considered his son's girlfriend. 'That one has a lot to learn before she can ever hope to be on a caliber with Gemma and Cat. I like Lyla a'right enough. She seems to be good for my boy, but there's more to bein' an old lady than she realizes.'

Lyla was snuggling with Opie, happy to have his nearly undivided attention. She was upset that the men had rebuffed her. They'd given her a cordial enough greeting when they'd entered the house, but her acting as 'lady of the house' when it wasn't hers had made them uncomfortable. They'd kept their eyes on the back yard, waiting for the true lady of the house and their source of comfort to appear.

'Why would they want to look to an old broad like her when they have me around? I'm a lot easier on the eyes!' She welcomed Opie's caresses but wanted more than just his attention. She wanted attention from all the guys; craved the power and respect that Gemma enjoyed, and that she believed Cat was taking from her. 'They'll soon see just how much more valuable I can be than that old twat!'

Alex had retreived Cat from the couch and tucked her into his embrace again in the recliner, leaving Chibs with Misty.

Clay finished his chili and stood up, then walked over to stand next to the recliner. Clay knew Cat was nearly exhausted, and respected her all the more for her unselfish efforts on the club's behalf.

"We lost one of our own today," his voice broke with sadness over Prospect. "Though Gemma is on the lam, we have a safe place to mourn our loss and remember our fallen comrade. Cat always says it's what one does for family whenever she's stepped up to the plate for us. It's time we told her how proud we are that she is part of our family."

The Sons, Mary, Tara, and Chuckie raised their bottles and glasses high. Their voices spoke her name as one, reverently, almost like a prayer. All took a large swallow of their chosen liquor in her honor. Lyla also lifted her glass and took a sip, but she remained quiet and sulked at the attention Cat was given that should've been hers.

Cat felt her face turn bright red from their tribute. Her heart felt like it would burst from the pride she heard in Alex's deep voice as he joined in the toast. "I appreciate it, y'all, but Mary and Lyla did a lot, too. I couldn't have done this without their help."

"Baby, that's not the point," Alex replied. "They couldn't have helped if you hadn't stepped up in the first place. Relax. Accept it. It's what we do for family."

There was a general murmuring of agreement from the men. Cat flushed and buried her head in Alex's shoulder. "OK, I know when I'm outvoted."

"For once!" Alex laughed.

The doorbell rang, it's brash sound casting a pall over the gathering. Tig glanced out the window and snarled. "Shit! It's Stahl!"

Agent June Stahl was beginning to regret giving Gemma a chance to be with her family. 'I should've known she'd run instead of go to them!' Stahl fumed angrily. Her crotch still hurt from Edmond Hayes' punch. She'd not had the time to have herself checked out and every move was a fresh experience in pain.

She'd been to the Morrows house, but it was dark and closed up tight. She knew no one had been there for hours.

She'd checked out Teller – Morrow, but the guards at the gate had refused to allow the Feds access without a warrant. Stahl had expected a member of SAMCRO to confront her.

To her surprise, Stone Coyote, president of the SAMPOR charter met with her. He had proved himself just as stubborn and immovable as Clay Morrow when it came to her being allowed to search the grounds.

"If you don't have a warrant, you're not gettin' access," the SAMPOR president informed her. "Clay and the others are handling business. You need to leave. Now."

She found Charming PD swarming around Jax Teller's house when her search took her there. It has seemed the next logical place for Gemma to hide out.

'That baby means a lot to her. She would never leave him behind!' Stahl flashed her Federal Agent badge at the uniformed officers and strode into the house, coming nose to nose with Deputy Chief David Hale.

"What's going on here?' Stahl asked, her gaze taking in the blood stained kitchen rug.

"Don't you have a police radio?" Hale retorted. "We've had a murder and a kidnapping here. I'm a little busy at the moment."

Stahl felt as if a vice was slowly squeezing her stomach. "Who was killed?"

"The one they called Prospect. Abel Teller's been kidnapped by Cameron Hayes," Hale informed her. His sharp hearing caught her sudden intake of breath. "What do you know about this? Is this more of your collaterial damage?"

Stahl backed away from the Deputy Chief a couple of steps, fighting to control her guilt. "Of course not. I just happen to be looking for Gemma Morrow. She's wanted for the murder of Edmond Hayes."

Hale glared angrily at the Fed. "I should've known you had something to do with this! What'd you do, shoot Edmond yourself and blame it on Gemma?"

"I'll remind you I'm a law enforcement officer, Hale!" Stahl retorted hotly. Her eyes widened as soon as she realized she'd said too much.

"Who doesn't mind bending the law when it suits her. We have you to thank for Donna Winston, just like we have you to thank for this!" Hale pointed at the bloodstained rug. "Get the Hell out of my sight before I forget I'm a gentleman!" He turned and walked away from her, disgust roiling in his gut. 'To think I once tapped that! What the Hell was I thinking!'

Stahl stared after Hale's retreating back, realizing she'd permanently lost an ally. 'Not that there's anything he can do about it,' she assured herself.

She recalled Opie Winston staring at her the other day in the Hayes' military surplus store. His expression had indicated that he regretted having shown mercy to her. 'Nothing the Sons can do about it, either!'

She returned to her car and pulled out her PDA. She had a list of all the addresses of the Sons' hang outs. Most of the stores on Main Street were closed for the night, so there was no sense in her checking them.

She scrolled through the list of addresses for the Sons' homes. 'If they're not at the clubhouse, and not at the Morrow's or the Teller's, where else would they go?'

She stopped the scrollbar at the address for Tig Trager and Cat Marshall. 'No guy would risk a woman's ire by having a bunch of men in the house without the little woman present. Course, Trager's not the usual man. Doesn't seem like the type to kowtow to any female. They could be at the hospital, considering Marshall's still in critical.'

Stahl drove out to St. Thomas and walked to the information booth. She flashed her badge in front of the volunteer on duty and demanded to know the room number for Cat Marshall.

"I'm afraid I can't help you with that, Agent Stahl."

Stahl glared at the elderly volunteer. "I'm not _asking_ for your help. I could have you arrested for obstruction of justice if you don't tell me her room number. I don't give a damn if she's still in critical condition!"

The volunteer shrugged. "You can arrest me, but it doesn't change the fact that Ms. Marshall is no longer a patient. Her condition was upgraded and she checked out hours ago."

"That bitch! She's helping them!" Stahl spun on her heel and strode out to the parking lot, leaving a bemused volunteer watching her retreat.

Stahl drove as fast as she could back towards Main Street and turned onto Cat Marshall's street. The sight of a large number of parked Harleys met her gaze.

'This should prove interesting.' Stahl radioed her location and called for back up. 'If they have any idea that I brought about the murder and the kidnapping, they won't think twice about tearing me to shreds. I doubt any of them would be in a merciful mood!'

She parked a few houses away from the house and checked her weapon to make sure it was fully loaded. Her backup arrived and parked behind her. They donned Kevlar and ATF windbreakers, then crept to the house.

Stahl could see Tig Trager sitting in the front window cradling Cat Marshall in his lap. 'The woman still looks pretty bad to me!' She walked onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

"Shit! It's Stahl!" roared Trager.

Stahl glanced in the front window again, but Cat Marshall was gone. The door opened, and Cat stood in the doorway, one eye glaring balefully at the agent.

"What do you want, Stahl? This is a private party. You aren't welcome."

"I'm looking for Gemma Morrow. Is she here?"

Cat smiled ferally. "If she were, I wouldn't tell y'all. And unless you've got a warrant, y'all should best be gettin' your bony ass off my front porch."

"I can get a warrant, but it'd be a lot easier on you if you let me look for myself," Stahl retorted, noting that her adversary leaned tiredly against the doorframe. 'I forgot how ballsy this broad can be! Takes a lot to be able to stand against me in her beat up condition.'

"Haven't we danced this waltz before? I don't _have_ to let you look. Either get a warrant or get outta here. I'm not so bad off I can't swing a baseball bat one handed!"

Tig Trager appeared behind her, his hands on Cat's shoulders, drawing her against his chest in support.

"You won't have to baby. We can handle this gash!" Tig growled.

Clay Morrow appeared beside his Sergeant at Arms, his steely gaze directed at the agent. His expression resembled someone gazing at a bug pinned to a card.

"So can I, Tig," Cat assured him. "Gemma's not here. If she were, she'd take care of you in a red hot minute. She's not, so I am. If you don't get your ass off my property by the time I count to five, I'm callin' CPD and havin' you forcibly removed."

Stahl stared at the trio in defiance. More Sons were coming to the door, and she could sense her back up was getting nervous.

"She's got us dead to rights. We don't have probable cause. We don't have a warrant. Look at their expressions, Stahl. Do they _look _like they're hidin' Gemma Morrow in a closet by the door?"

Cat held up one finger, which was soon joined by a second. She stared Stahl in the eyes with her good eye. "Please don't make the mistake of thinkin' I'm playin' with y'all. I'm in dead earnest," she warned quietly, holding up a third finger.

Stahl holstered her sidearm and backed away from the porch. "All right. I can see that Gemma's not here. I suppose it'd be a waste of breath to ask you to call me if you hear from her?"

Cat glared at the agent. "Do you _really_ expect me to dignify that request with an answer that doesn't start with 'Not just no, but Hell no!'?" She held up a fourth finger. "Tig, where'd I leave my baseball bat? The one with the cork in it."

"In the closet where the gash thinks Gemma's hidin'," he growled, trying hard not to laugh. "Want me to get it?"

"Would you, please? I'm thinkin' I might get in a little battin' practice after all!" She held out her hand in an expectant manner, her fingers poised as if ready to grasp such a device at any minute.

"You've made your point, Marshall. No need to beat a dead horse," Stahl replied, backing to the driveway. "I'm sorry about the club's loss."

"Shove your fake sentiments up your ass and choke on 'em, Stahl. We're not interested in your false condolensces. Good night!" Cat hissed. She stepped back and slammed the door.

Stahl stared at the closed door, watching as the curtains to the front window drew closed. She shrugged and walked down the drive.

"You gonna get a warrant?"

Stahl turned a weary eye to her deputy. "No. By the time we get one, they'd figure out a way to get her out of the house and out of town. I don't think she's in there, anyway. We struck out. Put out a state wide APB on Gemma with a reward for information leading to her capture. Start it at five grand. Money always buys leads."

Cat glanced over at the sofa, realizing too late that slamming the door might've caused Misty to bolt. To her relief, the little feline was sound asleep on Chibs' lap. 'He's takin' it hard, but Misty seems to be workin' her magic.' She limped over to her friend and laid a hand on his head. "Chibs, honey, ya feel like eatin' somethin'? Want a beer?"

Chibs shook his head, then reached up and took her hand in his, placing a kiss on it. "Jest lemme be, Lady Cat," he whispered before burying his face in the cat's fur again.

She stroked his hair, wishing she knew how to alleviate his pain. Cat glanced at Chuckie, who was getting used to reading her non verbal communication. He nodded and brought a bowl of chili and a beer over to Chibs, placing them on the end table next to him.

"It's there if you want it, brother," Cat whispered, reaching over to rub the cat under her chin. Misty licked her hand before closing her eye and falling asleep again.

Cat swayed a little as she stood up, reaction from the confrontation with Stahl replacing her righteous indignation with fatigue. Alex picked her up and carried her to the recliner, settling her in his lap again and holding her close to him. He peeked out the window, but none of the Feds were in sight. "I don't think they'll bother us any more tonight. If she comes back, it'll be my turn to deal with her, you got dat, baby?"

"Victor Newman's growin' on ya, love," she whispered tiredly, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

Throughout the evening, the Sons partook of the food and drink, reminiscing about Half – Sack. They found comfort that night not just from the sustenance, but in the safe haven Cat had provided for them in their time of need.

They quietly accepted her temporary elevation into Gemma's role as their matriach. They knew without being told that they could turn to her for strength, understanding, and security in the uncertain days that lay ahead.


End file.
